A King Was Born
by Cain Crimson-Blade
Summary: "A young man. A millionaire of his own making. A Boy Genius. A Boy Who Liv- wait, what? Say what now? 'Boy Who Lived? The hell's that mean? Oh, I'm a wizard? We- pf, that's... just... hmm. Interesting. Say, what can you tell me about wizarding economy and commerce?" Harry James Potter, founder of The Potter Group, learns of his heritage, and decides to take full advantage of it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

 _Hi, hello. If you're reading this, it means I've been killed._

 _Nah, I'm just messing around. XD_

 _Welcome to "Expectation Reversal", my second Harry Potter fic. I would like to start off by saying that, yes, this story has the exact same base premise of "Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Survived". Meerlinda's there, James Evans' there, the chantry's still there, all that good stuff. This story will have a Harry that is focused on other things, however. Rather than using his c. 200 years of study to learn fighting, magic, assassination, the "good stuff", he used them to learn economics, entrepreneurship, politics, law, and a lot of other "good stuff". You could say that this is like an RPG's branching plotlines; a bunch of different "what ifs" than HP:TOWS._

 _It might be slower, it might be boring, who knows. What I do know is that I will try my hardest to make it just as spicy, if not moreso, than HP:TOWS._

 _With all that out of the way, let's go on, shall we?_

A Fantastically Mundane Surprise June 17th, 1994 London, England

Harry Potter, thirteen years of age, sat in a large boardroom. He was wearing a black suit with a black vest, black shirt and black tie, and his hair was neatly kempt at short on the sides and slightly longer at the top, and his expression showed that he was _bored_. Sitting at the head of a long table where a few adults sat and talked and argued with each other, all of them wearing professional suits, he finally had enough.

"Quiet!" he called out with exasperation, and the room instantly fell silent. "Thank you."

He stood up and leant over the table, his knuckles resting on the surface. His face was serious, and even though he was only a young boy, no one dared speak against him when he ordered silence.

"Here's what's going to happen," he calmly began. "Beatrice, you will make preparations for the arrival of our esteemed guest, Mr Yakamura. I'm talking limousine, champagne, a suite at the Four Seasons, go round up high–class escort girls if you have to. Make sure he has everything he wants. Clyde," he looked towards a man as the woman nodded with a grim expression, "you make sure that the area is ready for his inspection. Make sure that the sound equipment and bar have been set up, and take a look at the employee list, as well. Make sure everyone is ready to get to work at the drop of a fucking hat."

"Yes, sir," Clyde said and nodded.

"Good," Harry said with a small sigh. "Was that so difficult? You're all dismissed."

Everyone in the room with the boy quickly and quietly got up and left the room. Said boy sighed and sat back in the large chair, and rubbed his face.

"Incompetent fucking imbeciles," he muttered and looked out of the window. "'But you're just a kid!' Kiss my ass, Beatrice."

He sat and stared out the window for what seemed like hours until he stood from the chair and left the room as well. He made his way through a floor occupied with offices and some cubicles, and then entered a large office with the name tag 'Harry J. Potter, CEO' written on it. There was a large desk, a few file cabinets, and a bookshelf. Very bare, quite minimalistic, but perfectly useful and elegant. He walked over and stood by the window where he stared out over the city of London.

"And now I have to write a briefing for the shareholder's meeting next week," he muttered. "Damnit."

Just as he was about to turn to his desk chair, something caught his eye. A rather large bird of some kind flying directly towards him. Harry narrowed his eyes, and they glowed pale red. Suddenly, he could see much more clearly, and focusing on the bird, he saw that it was an owl. A primarily nocturnal bird of prey, which did confound Harry. He checked his watch quite briefly, to see that it was barely past one in the afternoon. He looked back, and the owl seemed to come ever and ever closer, never altering its path from flying directly at him. Harry, curious as to what might be going on, opened a window wide. The bird soon flew straight through the open window and landed on the desk. It sat there and hooted a few times. Harry merely walked around the desk, his eyes never leaving the bird.

"Hmm," he muttered. "Interesting."

He stood and silently observed the bird. The bird seemed to grow irritated, and started trudging on his desk. It was only then that he noticed the letter tied to its leg by a leather strap. Harry cautiously moved closer and untied the letter from the creature's leg. The owl then barked again and took flight back out the window after taking a lap around his office. Harry stared after the bird with wide eyes, not truly believing what had just happened. He stared for minutes until he remembered the letter in his hands, and he quickly looked at the envelope's front.

"To Harry James Potter, at The Potter Group, London," he read aloud. "Hmm."

He opened the letter and started reading the first page.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump… you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your _**owl**_ by no later than 31 July? Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."

Harry stared at the first page for quite a while, considering whether to burn it, throw it away, or keep reading. To humour himself, he chose the latter.

"Three sets of plain work robes, dragon hide, name tags, dress robes, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, hmm. Curious. Quite curious. Meerlinda might know more about this nonsense."

All of a sudden, a few knocks came from the door to his office. Harry placed the letter pages face–down on the desk top and called for the person to come in. As the door opened, it revealed his secretary, Jaquelin Luças, and a man of short stature, almost as short as Harry himself, holding a lime–green bowler and wearing a suit that seemed to have been influenced both by modern fashion and formal attire from the 19th century.

"Mr Potter, there's a Cornelius Fudge here to see you," the French woman said.

"Let him in, Jaquelin," Harry said with a disarming smile.

Jaquelin stepped aside and allowed the man to enter. The older man did so with a bright smile on his face, and Jaquelin closed the door as she turned to leave.

"Mr Potter, such a pleasure to meet you!" the man said and reached out his hand, which Harry took. Harry was a little put off by the _very_ enthusiastic shake. "My name is Cornelius Oswald Fudge, and I am the sitting Minister for Magic."

Harry raised a brow questioningly.

"Magic?" he asked.

"Yes, m'boy, magic!" Fudge exclaimed. "Don't you know anything?"

"I would appreciate it, Mr Fudge, that you not question my intelligence. As you should be acutely aware of, standing in my office and all, I am known as the most intelligent minor to have ever lived."

"Yes, yes," Fudge waved his hand. "Muggles. They think every person with a little common sense is a genius."

Harry's left eye twitched, but his neutral mask remained unbroken.

"What can I do for you, Mr Fudge?"

"Oh, I merely came to inquire as to whether you intend on breaking the Statute of Secrecy with this…" he looked around the office, "game of yours."

Harry took a deep breath, acutely aware that his eye was twitching once again.

"Let me explain something to you, Mr Fudge, while you stand in my office; I am the youngest Chief Executive Officer the world has ever seen. My firm deals with politicians, celebrities, and entrepreneurs the world over, from Shanghai and Bangkok to New York and Washington. We fund nightclubs, opera houses, hotels, restaurants, and cinematic motion picture associations and producers. In two years, I have built up a Fortune 500 company that has contracts on the global scale, starting when I was twelve years of age. Please do not insult an achievement that has never been seen before, anywhere in the world, or I may decide to call security and have you removed from my office. Now, let us try this again: What. Can. I. Do. For. You?"

It seemed that, after the short monologue, the boisterous man in front of him seemed to realise that the thirteen–year–old was not joking around.

"I came to see if you were breaking the Statute of Secrecy," Fudge said, slightly subdued.

"And what is this statute?" Harry inquired.

Fudge looked strangely at Harry, with an expression Harry had seen all too often on people's faces.

"You really have no clue, do you?"

"About what, Mr Fudge?"

"M'boy, you're famous!" the man exclaimed.

Harry snorted and walked over to a small table next to an armchair and picked up the day's newspaper and tossed it at Fudge.

"Of course I have a clue."

Fudge seemed surprised, and then unfolded the paper and looked at the front page, which held a picture of Harry standing cross–armed, looking serious, and dressed in his signature all–black suit. The headline read 'Boy Genius Strikes Again! Expands To Nightclubs!' The man kept reading, his eyes widening more and more as he read on. Soon, his head whipped up to look at the boy.

"So you're famous to Muggles as well!?"

"Muggles?" Harry asked.

"Non–magicals," Fudge explained. "Non–wizards."

Harry sighed.

"Alright, say this magic thing _is_ real… do something magical."

"You can't be serious, dear bo–"

"And stop calling me 'dear boy' and 'm'boy', Mr Fudge. It's 'Mr Potter' to you."

Now it was Fudge's turn to sigh.

"Very well… Mr Potter."

With that, he reached his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a wooden stick. He waved it, and a comfortable–looking chair shimmered into existence. He then sat down in it, and Harry looked on merely with raised brows for a few seconds before he lightly shrugged to himself and took a seat in his own chair behind his desk.

"Alright. I believe you. Now, the statute?"

"It is the law that says that we wizards are forbidden from revealing our natures and powers to Muggles who aren't closely related. It is impossible for a child to conceal their accidental magic from their parents and siblings, we know that. But when they gain control of it, they are prohibited from performing magic outside of school until they reach the age of seventeen, when they complete their education. They are also prohibited from telling those who don't _need_ to know about magic."

"I see. And I would presume this to be in response to… the Inquisition of the Middle Ages, no?"

Fudge's eyes widened.

"So you _do_ know!?"

"No, I do _not_ ," Harry shook his head. "Muggles, as you call them, teach about the Inquisition in history classes. They talk about how the catholic church burned, beheaded, and drowned thousands of innocent humans because they were superstitious and believed in witches and warlocks. I suppose they were right, then?"

Fudge looked slightly stunned, but then nodded.

"Yes. At least, for most of Europe. We have generally kept to ourselves and kept a low profile for as long as we have existed, but it wasn't until they Inquisition came after us that we made it a law to hide from them."

"I understand," Harry nodded. "Explains why people believe you to be fictitious."

"But you believe me?"

"I've always been of an open mind," Harry shrugged. "I may never have _believed_ anything very strongly, but I am not opposed to have my views proven wrong."

"I see," Fudge nodded. "Well, since you didn't know about our society, I suppose you couldn't have broken the Statute of Secrecy."

"Indeed," Harry shrugged.

Fudge nodded slightly and stood up, and with another wave of his wand, the chair he had used disappeared, drawing a raised brow from Harry.

 _That… seems really convenient._

As Fudge was about to leave the office, Harry remembered something.

"Mr Fudge, you couldn't tell me how to get to 'Diagon Alley' from here, could you?" Harry inquired.

Fudge looked at the young man with a smile.

"Come with me, and I can show you the way."

Harry considered it for a moment, and then he stood, walked over to his coat hanger and grabbed his long, black coat. He then followed Fudge out of the office, though not before grabbing the letter that had been sent to him and stuffing it in a pocket.

•••

Harry and Fudge casually walked down the streets of London, and Fudge was more than happy to explain the various things that Harry asked about the world of the wizards and witches. Fudge was a little surprised by the fact that Harry mostly wanted to know about the government, banking system, and various news outlets. Fudge slowly began to realise that the boy was clearly no idiot, and was clearly far more intelligent that he had assumed at first, not to mention far more intelligent that most people. The way he spoke, carried himself, even how he seemed to listen… they all spoke of confidence, experience, superiority, and of age far more advanced than what his age and appearance would suggest. The boy was barely beginning to grow the start of a beard, for Merlin's sake! Soon, however, they reached the Leaky Cauldron, and Fudge held the door open to the boy. Harry nodded curtly and entered.

Inside, Harry thought it looked like a slightly dirty pub, but it was still somewhat classy… if only somewhat. It was built in a clearly Victorian style, that was certain… and given what he had recently learned, Harry wasn't even certain that it _wasn't_ built in the Victorian era.

 _Then again, it might be even older than that._

The first thing he noticed besides the structure was the fact that all chatter had fallen silent, and everyone stared at him and Fudge. It was then that Harry remembered Fudge mentioning that he was famous in their society as well, though he hadn't actually asked as to why. _And_ , Fudge was the Minister for Magic. He presumed that the older politician would draw a few eyes wherever he went.

Harry put on a charming smile as he looked around, though he wasn't actually happy or joyed. It was merely a force of habit.

"Good afternoon, fellow wizards. And witches," he called out, which earned him a few raised drinks in greeting. He then looked at Fudge. "Shall we?"

"Most certainly," Fudge said and guided the boy through the main room towards a back exit.

Harry stared at a wall when they came out the back, and then looked at Fudge with anticipation.

"I was expecting Diagon Alley to look more like, you know, an _alley_ ," he jabbed in amusement.

"Ah, do not fret, Mr Potter," Fudge smiled and drew his wand. "Watch closely."

Harry did so and instantly memorised the pattern in which the politician tapped the bricks, and which bricks they were. As soon as he tapped the last one, the bricks started folding away, and revealed a brightly coloured street filled with people in cloaks, robes, and other very strange clothes. Harry smiled a small smile as he observed the street. He had to admit to himself, it was pretty damned wicked. He fell in step with Fudge as he started walking down the street, and Harry's head was swivelling like crazy, trying to take in as much as he could. The various shops had various displays as strange as the people surrounding them, showing brooms in a very stylish fashion, strange clothes, owls, cats, and toads, as well as cauldrons, more exotic animals, and other strange knickknacks. What took his breath more than anything else (though nothing was particularly breath–taking to him) was the white, marble building at the end of the street which Fudge was leading him to.

"This is Gringotts Wizarding Bank," Fudge proclaimed, "the only bank in the Wizarding World."

"The _only_ bank!?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes, Mr Potter, the only bank. We don't need others, and it isn't like anyone can compete with Gringotts."

Harry nodded slightly, and then they reached two men dressed as what Harry could only presume to be security uniforms. They held very thin rods ( _not sticks_ , Harry reminded himself) and looked slightly flustered as the two people approached. When the pair reached the security people, they stopped, and each of the men started padding the rod down their forms, most likely like metal detectors Harry assumed. When they were both cleared, Harry and Fudge walked inside through the entry hall, and before them stretched a marvel of a hall, filled with teller desks, short, stubby creatures sitting behind them, and a few groups or individuals talking to them. Fudge led Harry through the hall and up to the main teller at the far end, situated right in the centre. Fudge cleared his throat, and another of the stubby creatures with long noses and fingers seemed to appear from beneath the teller stand.

"Yes?" the creature drawled with some amount of disdain.

"Young Mr Harry Potter would like to access his vault, and receive the key, please," Fudge said.

The goblin immediately perked up at the mention of Harry's name and looked at the boy standing next to Fudge.

"Harry James Potter?" the creature asked at the boy, suddenly alert.

"Yes," Harry said with a small nod. "And as the Minster mentioned, I would like access to my vault. I don't have the key, though. Until just half an hour ago, I wasn't even aware of the existence of wizards or… I'm terribly sorry; what sort of creature would you and these other esteemed bankers be referred as?"

Fudge looked at Harry with an impressed expression. The boy certainly was a smooth talker for a, well, boy. The goblin seemed very satisfied with the response.

"We are goblins, Mr Potter, and we have been in charge of Gringotts since Gringott founded this bank in 1474."

"Ah, I see," Harry smiled. "Well, I wouldn't really trust a human with my own money, either, if it weren't for the fact that I only had human bankers before."

"Hmm, I like you already, young man," the goblin said. "Griphook!"

Suddenly, another goblin came running from behind a nearby desk.

"Yes?"

"Please escort Mr Potter down to his family's vault," the head goblin said, and then turned to Harry. "I apologise, Mr Potter, but as your magical guardian, it is Albus Dumbledore who possesses your key at the moment. Rest assured, however; I will personally see to it that your key is retrieved, and we will keep it here until you visit us again."

"Thank you very much, my good sir," Harry said and bowed slightly. "I shall look forward to seeing you again."

The head goblin nodded in approval as Harry and Fudge followed the newly summoned goblin through some corridors.

•••

Harry stepped off the cart that drove them through caverns at high speeds. He wore a wide, gleeful smile, seeing as he loved driving fast things.

"That was fun," he commented as Fudge stepped out as well, slightly disoriented by the quick nature of the cart's path.

"You are the only one to think so, Harry," Fudge said, breathing heavily.

Harry just smiled and followed Griphook towards a specific vault door. The goblin pulled out a temporary replacement key that would soon disappear into nothingness, and inserted it into the keyhole. He twisted, and Harry heard what must have been dozens of locks disengaging. The doors soon swung open, and Harry was astonished at the amount of gold, silver and bronze coins in the confines of the vault. He stepped inside with slow, cautious steps.

"This is all mine?" Harry asked the goblin.

"It is a portion of your fortune," Griphook explained. "A trust fund, of about 10.000 galleons. It should reach for whatever you may desire for your time in school."

"This is a trust fund!?" Harry exclaimed. "Well, how much do I have in total?"

"I should say… a few million galleons," Griphook seemed to try to recall an exact number. "Around… 7.540.200 galleons, counting the sickles and knuts."

 _Gold, silver and bronze, hmm?_

Harry whistled in amazement and took another look around, and wandered deeper into the vault. In the back, he found a few old trunks, chests, and other forms of containers. Most interesting to him, however, was a file cabinet. He opened it and ruffled through it, until he found a file labelled 'Sleekeazy's Hair Potion'. He pulled out the file and opened it, and was marvelled to discover that it was a contract signing the company that held the trademark on it away from a 'Fleamont Potter'. Harry replaced the file in the cabinet and looked around some more. He found a strange purse, looking like a woman's handbag. He grabbed it, opened it, and placed his hand inside, only to find that it had no bottom. He turned it over and looked, but his hand simply vanished, as there was no hole in the bottom.

 _Undetectable magical expansion. Interesting._

Harry then grabbed quite a few handfuls of gold, silver, and bronze coins and placed them in separate sections of the bag. He then went to place it in his pocket, only to have it suddenly shrink in his hand and falling in on its own. He couldn't help the slight grunt of excitement that escaped him.

"Marvellous!" he commented.

"Yes, you will find quite a few trinkets like that in here," Griphook stated. "The Potter family was never as rich as when your grandfather, Fleamont Potter, made a fortune on a hair potion and then selling the firm when he was too old to work. Before that, though, your family was quite involved with politics, though never in the limelight. You had quite clever and intelligent ancestors, Mr Potter."

"So it would seem," Harry said and looked around some more.

He found several books on various subjects, all written by a Potter, and all seemingly quite advanced, though Harry really had no clue as to how advanced. When he felt he was done looking, he stumbled over a pouch, similar to the one he had in his pocket, but with only one compartment. Harry quickly snatched it up and placed it in another pocket, and to his delight, it too shrunk to easily fit. He then nodded at the two others and stepped out of the vault.

•••

"Well, I shall bid you a fair day, Harry," Fudge said as they left the bank. "I have to get back to my office at the Ministry. Should you ever feel the need, or just want, you can always come by."

"I appreciate the offer, Minister Fudge," Harry smiled and extended his hand, which Fudge merrily shook. "Have a lovely afternoon."

With a tip of the minister's bowler, and a 'crack', the man disappeared, leaving Harry standing there, in awe at the sudden disappearance of the man.

"Wow," he muttered to himself. "I need to learn that."

Harry then shook himself out of his stupor and pulled the curled–up letter out of his pocket. He read the lists a few times, making sure to memorise each item perfectly, and every description of them. He then curled the letter back up and looked around. He quickly found a shop that clearly sold books, called Flourish & Blotts. Harry took off and went inside. When he did, he noticed a girl with bushy, brown hair and a boy with flaming red. They were talking about books… or, more accurately, _she_ was talking about books, and the boy was half–asleep on his feet. Nearby was a rather rotund woman, clearly the redhead's mother by the looks of it.

Not only was Harry adept at reading social circumstances, but he was also very well–studied in biology, and did have basic understanding of genetics. Not that it all mattered, the relation was obvious. Age–difference, similar shades of hair, it all just fit perfectly.

"Really, Ronald!?" the bushy–haired girl exclaimed. "You should really take your studies seriously!"

"Oh, come on, 'Mione!" the boy, Ronald, returned. "We just keep going the same we always have!"

"Quiet, children!" the mother of the redhead shushed them. "We're in a bookstore."

Harry released the conversation from his focus and went about the store, looking for the titles that were listed in his letter, though he did find several interesting books that he also purchased, many pertaining to the history of the magical world, the various countries, creatures, and branches of magic, as well as some books on what could only be described as advanced magic, though once again, he had no actual clue. Harry went up to the till and placed them all on the counter. The teller glanced over the books, noted the prices down, and then calculated the total price.

"That will be 21 galleons and seven knuts," the teller said.

Harry quickly fished out his purse, counted the right amount, and then placed it all on the counter.

"Thank you very much for your patronage, sir," the teller said.

Harry then placed all the books in the one–compartment–pouch and replaced said pouch in his pocket. However, just as he was about to leave, he heard something behind him.

"Hermione, dear, you don't have to," he heard the voice of the mother say. "We'll just have to try another place."

Harry instantly realised what the situation was about, and he internally sighed. He _did_ want to fall in good graces with the public, though. He turned around and walked up to the register once more, surprising the group of three when he glanced at the teller's tally of the price, fished out his purse, and paid the full sum. Without another word, he turned and left the store before anyone could question him, though he swore he heard the girl mutter "T _hat was Harry Potter!_ ". Then again, he had easily scraped a few hundred galleons, sickles and knuts into his purse, and their purchase was a measly 32 sickles. Barely anything at all. Harry spent the rest of the day getting his things scratched off the list he had mentalised, and when he was done, he left the same way he entered; through the Leaky Cauldron.

When he came inside and passed the bar, however, he stopped for a brief moment, and then looked at the barkeep.

"One round of anything the patrons want," he said and placed 15 galleons on the counter top. "On me."

There were cheers from the pub, and Harry smiled and waved as he left the inn, though he quickly dropped the smile once he left.

 _A whole new society to play with… hmm, this is going to be interesting. Very interesting._

•••

Harry returned to his office and sat down in his chair. He started mulling things over, until he remembered that he had bought several books specifically about the history, politics and social customs of the world he had just been introduced to. He pulled out the pouch from his pocket and reached inside. He then pulled out book after book and placed them all on the desk. There was a total of 38 books, including his school textbooks and other books on various kinds of magic. He counted a rough average of 350 pages per book, spread over 38 books, with 17 of them being about magic…

"13.300 pages total, 7.350 of which are presently relevant," he muttered to himself. Crunching numbers was a big part of finances and economics… and something he was more than adequate at. "Best get to it."

•••

June 24th, 1994 London, England

Harry closed the gigantic book and sighed. He had done little else than read for a week, and he was only through his second book. The boy pushed the book away and looked out of the window of his office. It was nice to have a view of late–evening London from the 17th floor. It looked quiet. Not particularly peaceful, but then again, he didn't really care of the city was peaceful. Quiet was a blessing to him, and he embraced it whenever he got it. Suddenly, the phone on his desk rang, and before it rang a second time, he put the speaker to his ear and spoke.

"Yes?"

" _Mr Potter, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there's something I need to discuss with you_ ," came a male voice, clearly an older man, from the other end. " _Can you meet me at the usual place?_ "

Harry put the receiver against his shoulder and rubbed his eyes with a sigh, before he put it back.

"Be there in 15 minutes, or I go home."

With that, Harry hung up and stood from his chair. He grabbed his coat and left the office, but not before letting Jaquelin know that he took the following day off.

•••

Harry sat on a bench in a park close to his office building, waiting for someone to appear. He held a newspaper in his hands and read the news as he waited, only to see that the paper had done another piece on him, this time detailing his take–over of a restaurant in the fanciest part of the city. He couldn't help the smirk when the article detailed that the guests had found the quality of the food to go up, and that the restaurant's reviews had bettered significantly over just the few weeks since he had purchased it. He was brought out of his musings when a senior man, also clad in a tailored suit, though his in pinstripe, sat down next to him. Harry folded up the newspaper and dropped it in his lap.

"What is it now, Frank?" Harry asked with slight annoyance.

Frank merely dropped an unremarkable A4 envelope in the boy's lap, and the boy picked it up. When he pulled out the contents, he noticed that there were some pictures of another senior man, some of them slightly incriminating for potentially disastrous use.

"Jonathan McIrvin?" Harry asked. "He's the whip for the Conservative Party. What about him?"

"He happens to have something that I can't allow anyone to see, and he keeps it on him at all times," Frank said. "I need you to silence him."

Harry sighed.

"God damnit, Frank! If you don't want dirt on you, don't do shit that can be used against you! And if you absolutely have to, make sure no one finds out about it! What is it?"

"A disk, containing… less–than–nice pictures of me and a young woman I met at a pub."

"I don't care, Frank. You got caught, deal with it."

"He is also rounding up his party to ensure a bill that disallows individuals under the age of 21, specifically you, to start and run businesses. So far, he almost has his entire party on the vote, and he's making deals with other parties' whips to get them to do the same. If it continues like this, you'll be deposed as CEO of The Potter Group until you turn 21, and they'll likely try to weasel in one of their own leaders to take over. No doubt they'll try to make a clause like: "In such a case, as a minor is holding an official position in a firm at the time of the passing of this bill, a responsible and effective leader will be chosen by parliament vote to lead the firm until such a time as the minor reaches adulthood."

Harry glared at the senior man who merely stood and left, trudging slowly down a path along the small pond. Harry then pulled out more of the contents of the envelope to see a medical journal. Something did jump out at him, though, and forced him to sigh. He then looked behind him at a corner shop he frequented to get lunch.

"Wonder if they've any peanuts left."


	2. Chapter 2

A New Adventure September 1st, 1994 London, England

Harry stood outside King's Cross station, dressed in his usual suit and a black trunk by his side, on top of which rested a cage in which sat a snow–white owl, resting her head under her wing. Harry had gone back to Diagon Alley once he had received a letter by hawk that the goblins had retrieved his key. He had seen the bird as he was leaving, and he couldn't resist. She was far too beautiful, and a bird to deliver his mail was quite a treat for him. He would make sure to treat her well.

Beside him stood a man of Middle–Eastern ethnicity, though he had bright, blue eyes, a stark contrast to his skin and facial structure. The man was also wearing a suit, though far less formal than Harry's three–piece, and a regular, tan trench coat on top.

"You sure you'll be alright?" James Evans asked, though seemingly unconcerned. "It isn't a boardroom, you could get hurt."

"Well, Meerlinda had me study some martial arts," Harry shrugged. "I'll be fine. Learning that you were a wizard was far more surprising, though."

"I never hid that I practiced magic, and you knew that Meerlinda is a vampire," James said.

"You never actually showed it to me, either. Just said 'it's all about spirit'. Besides, Meerlinda only ever mentioned vampires and werewolves, and told me they'd been at odds for centuries. I was under the impression they were the only supernatural species there were."

"Eh, fair enough."

"Guess I'll be seeing you in a year, then," Harry said. "Try to find out as much about my family's financial history and current state of affairs, will you?"

"I will," James nodded. "The letter and vial of blood will come in handy for that."

"Yeah, good thing I thought of it, and you told me about it," Harry said with a sly smirk. "See you."

"Here's looking at you, kid," James said before he lightly patted Harry on the shoulder and turned, walking back towards the black BMW.

Harry grabbed the cage and trunk, and started into the station. He drew looks as soon as he stepped inside, and people ( _Muggles_ Harry mused silently to himself) started whispering. Looking around, Harry saw a large poster with him plastered on the wall, clearly an advertisement for a rather popular, British financial and scientific magazine.

There were debates in the government as to whether to shut down his business, or let the nation revel in the fact that they had the world's most brilliant and successful twelve–year–old, who at fourteen had managed to secure his contracting agency steady, high–profile contracts with several major corporations, in and out of the British Isles. In a mere two years, The Potter Group had managed to become established as a temp–agency, a private investigations and security firm, a financial and legal consultation firm, and an investment firm. People in high places were also discussing why Harry chose so many different paths for his firm, and whether to try to at least limit his reach.

Harry's secret was that he spread his attention over many fields, because specialising in one would take far longer to get him established. If he spread the name of his group to as many industries as possible, it was far more likely that his firm would be mentioned, and when that happened, and his clients discovered that he also did other things, and would return because of his stellar results, as well as mention him to a variety of others. His adopted mother, Meerlinda, had lent him a few million pounds to get him started, and he had done well for himself. Not only had he returned her money with a 10% interest less than a year after he began, he had also managed to rake in 600% of what she had lent him in the two years. Where he had previously had one floor of his office building, and one to two members of staff for each branch, he now had a floor for his temp agency, a floor for investigations and security, one for financial and legal consultation, and one where the reports, statistics, and incomes were gathered, compiled, and worked into one single report that was handed to him, almost 200 pages every Sunday. It was hard work, but Harry swelled with pride whenever he looked back on his achievements, being only fourteen years of age and having achieved more success than any other person of similar age, and billions of people up to the age of 100. And he felt very comfortable in leaving Jaquelin in charge of The Potter Group as COO while he "went to school" to "complete his education". He had been deliberately vague as to exactly what it entailed, but Jaquelin was the kind of person he could respect; she merely nodded, asked for any details on specific agendas he wanted her to look into, and asked when she could expect him back. Right after she had left his office, Harry had written a note to the financial department's payroll clerks to add a 20.000£ bonus to her next salary.

Harry continued through the train station, and once he reached the platforms nine and ten, he pulled a small trick that his mother had taught him; how to make people ignore his presence. He was too recognisable in his current attire, so his usual tricks of stealth and evasion just wouldn't cut it. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment, and when he opened them again, the people around him seemed to start completely ignore him. Harry moved over to a pillar, and he leant up against it as he focused on his hearing. Suddenly, most of the sounds around him muted, and kept sinking in volume, and then he went to work.

His mother was a vampire, and as such, she had access to some very neat and useful, supernatural tricks. Through blood infusions, she said, she had turned Harry into something of a "human vampire", or a "thrall". He possessed some of their innate abilities, and he did occasionally feel a kind of thirst or hunger that food and drink just couldn't satisfy. His heart–rate was also slower than most humans could survive on, and as such, his skin was just a few degrees cooler and a few shades paler than the average Briton. Among his vampiric tricks was the ability to conceal his presence better, sharpen any of his senses to superhuman levels, see in the dark, experience others' surface–thoughts, and to manipulate their emotions. His most powerful gift, in his opinion, was his ability to command any human of average mental strength or weaker. Those with a greater sense of themselves or willpower were much harder, and people trained in harsh conditions were practically impossible to command. His commands also had their limits, though. He couldn't force anyone but the truly pathetic to harm themselves, and he could use more time and more accurately describe what he wanted his subject to do to make it stick much deeper in their mind, but that held its own set of issues, such as using words or phrases they didn't understand, or wording it in a way too complicated for them to comprehend. The final of his powers were enhanced speed, agility, reflexes, strength, stamina, and resistance to injury, but he rarely needed them. He wasn't a fighter, _mostly_ , but rather a talker. A diplomat. An FBI profiler might even call him a conman.

Through the obscured sounds, he sifted through conversation after conversation, until he landed on a few voices he had heard before.

"Honestly Ron, I've told you!" he heard the voice of the bushy–haired girl he had seen in Diagon Alley. "Harry Potter is famous in the Muggle world, too! He's a genius, I tell you! He's only around our age, and he's already built a small business centre in London! Last time I checked, his net worth was in the 90–130.000.000£ range!"

"What'd you mean?" 'Ron' said. "How many galleons is that?"

Harry was slightly glad that they were right on the other side of the pillar he leant against. He smirked and slipped around, and ended up standing next to the brown–haired girl.

"From around 18.255.578 to 26.369.168 galleons," Harry commented with a smile, startling the girl who was talking as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere, "including a fair bit of change in sickles and knuts. Good morning. I'm Harry Potter, and I would very much appreciate it if you could point me towards Platform 9¾."

There was utter silence for several awkward moments, as the flock of redheads and a brown–haired girl all stared at him in shock. He looked at them with a slightly expectant smile. It wasn't until the apparent patriarch of the family shook himself out of his stupor, and stuck out his hand.

"It's an honour to meet you, Harry," the man said excitedly. "I'm Arthur Weasley."

"Pleasure," Harry said, though sighed inwardly.

"This is my wife, Molly," the patriarch said and gestured to the matriarch, "my sons Fred, George, and Ron," he gestured to a pair of twins and the boy next to the bushy–haired girl, who was (much to Harry's loathing) standing with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, "and my daughter, Ginny." He pointed at the red–haired girl, who immediately moved behind her older twin brothers, her face starting to gain the same colour as her hair. "That," he gestured at the brown–haired girl, "is Hermione Granger, a friend of ours."

Hermione's hand lightly shook as she reached out to shake his, and deciding to have a little fun, he pulled her hand up to his face and lowered his lips until they lightly brushed the knuckles of the girl. He then sent her one of his best lady–killer smiles.

"Charmed," he muttered huskily as he looked her straight in the eye, and he could see not only her face flush to an unhealthy colour, but noticed her knees starting to shake as well, wanting to give in.

Harry also noticed (interestingly to him) that the boy, Ron, seemed to snap out of it and frowned at Harry's gesture. Harry released the girl's hand, though made sure to let their skin–contact linger just a little longer than necessary, and then looked at Arthur.

"And Platform 9¾?" the young millionaire asked.

"Ah, yes," the man realised. "It's right through that wall over there," he pointed towards one of the support pillars. "Just walk right through it, or run if you're feeling nervous."

"Thank you," Harry said with a slight bow in his back, and then started pulling his trunk after himself towards the entrance.

It wasn't long until he was through the passage and saw the shiny, scarlet locomotive, and he whistled lightly in appreciation.

"At least they've got style," Harry muttered with a slight smile.

Harry quickly donned his vampiric mind–cloud once again just as the Weasleys and Hermione Granger stepped through the portal, and he moved away towards the train. He quickly and discreetly got on board and found an empty compartment. He stuffed his trunk on the luggage–rack above him and sat down next to the window. He then pulled out the pouch from his pocket, pulled a book out of it, and began reading, this book being on magical theory. He was almost through it, and wanted to finish it before he reached Hogwarts.

That was not to be, however.

A few minutes after the train had started moving, the door to his compartment opened and a trio of people stepped inside, though the lead, a raven–haired, blue–eyed girl about Harry's age, stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him.

"What is it, Daph?" asked another girl behind her.

Harry looked up at them, his face set in a very neutral expression.

"Can I help you?"

The girl seemed to be lost in thought, but quickly snapped out of it.

"May we sit in here?" she asked politely, though her face was still set in a cold, deadpan expression.

"Sure," Harry said and went back to reading his book.

The girl and her posse, consisting of the other girl and a boy of southern Italian descent, entered the compartment and placed their trunks on the luggage–racks. They then sat down, the two girls on one side, and the boy next to Harry.

"You're Harry Potter, right?" the boy asked.

"I am," Harry confirmed and stuck his hand out to the youth. "You?"

"Blaise Zabini," the boy said as he shook his hand.

Neither boy smiled, though they both gave simultaneous, courteous nods.

 _Hmm. I think I can respect this one._

The next to move was the blond girl, sitting across from Harry.

"I'm Tracey Davis," she said and held her hand out, though she smiled a bright smile, one Harry suspected was about half–genuine and half–mask.

"Pleasure."

As Harry released the girl's hand, he moved it towards the black–haired girl who merely looked at it, but then turned her head away. Harry let it hang there for a few seconds before he gave up.

"Don't mind her," Tracey said, somewhat cheerily. "She just has to keep up her 'Ice Queen' persona."

"Ice Queen?" Harry asked.

"That's what everyone at Hogwarts calls her," Zabini said. "Her name's Daphne Greengrass. We're all in Slytherin."

"Slytherin's the House of the…" Harry thought for a little and rummaged his brain, "ambitious and cunning, no?"

"It used to be," Zabini said, and looked just a little sour.

"Used to?"

"Now they're mostly bullies," Tracey said with a sigh. "It's like they somehow started confusing 'ambitious' and 'cunning' with 'snobbish' and 'mean'."

"But not you three?"

"Trace and I come from half–blood families," Blaise commented. "Daphne is one of the few true purebloods remaining in Slytherin."

"I see," Harry said. "Well, I'm only half–blooded myself."

"True, but the Potters were completely pure–blooded until your father married your mother," Daphne finally spoke up once more. "They're quite legendary amongst other pureblood families, I assure you."

"Thank you," Harry smiled a little.

"Of course, they're also heavily notorious and disliked for their habit of mingling more with Muggles than wizardkind."

Harry's smile fell instantly, and the three all noticed it. Blaise didn't react, Tracey started lightly fidgeting, and Daphne simply looked away again, her face showing nothing but disinterest. Harry stared a hole in the pureblood girl's head, but then turned back to his book and kept reading.

The rest of the trip was, needless to say, quite awkward.

•••

Harry strode into the Entrance Hall, dressed in robes of the school variety, much to his dismay. While it was by no means the worst uniform ever, the cloak aside, he would much rather just wear his usual suits. The three (two, Tracey and Blaise) Slytherins had informed him that he was required to wear it for the opening ceremony, and as such, he and Blaise had changed while the girls went outside the compartment.

Harry was by no means a bundle of muscles, though he could perform pretty much any task he had to, but when he had pulled off his shirt, even Blaise had needed a moment to know to look away. Harry was lean and tightly muscled, his physical training clearly evident. He wasn't big or hulking, but rather, he had a tight, toned torso, and strong thighs and calves, clear evidence that he did indeed workout regularly. Far more than boys his age usually did.

Harry was about to walk into the Great Hall after Zabini, but a hand grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.

"Not so fast, Mr Potter," came a strict voice, clearly belonging to an older woman.

Harry turned around and saw a somewhat tall woman clad in deep green robes, wearing a tall, pointed hat, and carrying a stern expression on her face.

"You are to be sorted with the other first years," she said. "I am Minerva McGonagall, your Transfiguration teacher."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Harry said with a small smile.

He was a little taken–aback when he saw a small smile twitch at the corners of her mouth.

"And you. I must say, you look remarkably like your father. Except for your eyes. You have your mother's eyes."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, but to be honest, he wasn't thankful. It was useless information, and he didn't care for anything useless.

 _Maybe not entirely useless_ , Harry suddenly realised. _People seem to have a soft spot for my parents. That could work to my advantage… if I play my cards right._

Harry had little trouble suppressing the gleeful smirk that tried to erupt on his lips. Harry waited beside McGonagall for the first year students to arrive, only to have a few of their jaws metaphorically hit the ground as they laid eyes on him… though their mouths did gape quite a bit, irking Harry the slightest bit. He appreciated what fame could do for him, but he _really_ didn't appreciate those who couldn't control themselves in the presence of it. Soon, McGonagall led the first years, Harry included, into the Great Hall, where the focus of the entire school's population landed on Harry, and stayed there. Name after name was called up by McGonagall to sit on a chair and get an old, manky hat put on their heads, after which the hat would open a rift above the rim to shout out the House that the new student landed in. The first time it had yelled out had spooked Harry, and he visibly jumped, drawing gasps from the people who saw it.

 _The Boy Who Lived is actually surprised at something, shocker! Cunts, you'd react the same wa– well… a lot of you probably would._

Soon, however, there were no more eleven–year–olds, and it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called out, and Harry confidently strode up towards the stool and sat on it.

The professor slowly lowered the hat onto his head, and he instantly heard a voice inside it.

 _ **Well, well… what do we have here?**_

 _Me, duh._

 _ **Hmm, a wisecracker I see. Certainly a Ravenclaw quality. Oooh, and I see quite an amount of intellect. The knowledge to back any claim you make… yet, the most of what I see in you, I also saw in Salazar–**_

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat called out, and polite applause came from the Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, whereas the Gryffindor table was brazenly heckling the hat and Slytherin.

Harry caught a glimpse of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger at the Gryffindor table. The boy looked furious and ready to pass out from the blood in his head, whereas Granger looked mildly upset, but mostly disappointed.

 _Pfft, their call._

Harry walked over to the Slytherin table and then walked down along it, looking for a few familiar faces. One boy, however, thought that it wasn't going to happen. A blond boy scooted over and gestured silently for Harry to sit down next to him. Harry simply ignored him and went on, until he reached Blaise Zabini, who respectfully made room next to him, but other than that, barely acknowledged his presence.

 _I like him already_.

Harry sat down next to the boy and looked towards the teachers' table.

"Now that the sorting has concluded," an old man with long, white beard spoke aloud as he stood from his chair, "there is some practical information that I need to pass on to you."

The man went on to mention how some event was being cancelled in favour of another, and Harry actually rather quickly tuned it out and just stared blankly into space, his mind swirling with thoughts. James had given him some run–downs of how the Wizarding world worked in Harry's off–hours, and had also taught Harry the fundamentals of magic. Harry got an idea, and turned his head until he found a candle, hanging in the ceiling. Harry's eyes honed in on the candle, specifically the flame, and he focused solely on that. All sounds disappeared, and all sights in his peripheral blurred and vanished, until only the candle existed in his world. Harry then imagined the candle dying down, willed for it to happen, and watched with wide eyes as the candle went out. Seeing the result of his effort, he refocused instantly and stared hard at the candle. He imagined the sensation of heat, and thought strongly of the flame the candle had once been aflame with. He saw the smoke intensifying, until fire suddenly popped back into the wick of the candle. He smirked with pride in himself.

James had explained to him just how rare and difficult non–verbal, much less wandless magic was. Harry returned his attention to his surroundings just in time to see food spontaneously appearing on the golden platters and plates. He looked around and saw people happily digging into their food, just like Daphne, Tracey and Blaise were. Harry filled a plate for himself and started eating.


	3. Chapter 3

Schooling of the Century Hogwarts Castle, Scotland September 2nd, 1994

Harry was in the Great Hall before the sun rose, and sat down at the Slytherin table with a book, one that James had lent him. It was a book on blood magic, James had said, and it was supposedly quite a dark subject that was unheard of being practiced in Hogwarts and British wizarding communities. James, however, decided that it would probably be useful for Harry, and then went on to explain that the things in the book could be applied to most other magic.

Apparently, blood magic was, in–and–of itself, not very useful. It was, rather, a way to enhance other types of magic, empowering them either in potency or duration. The other kind of blood magic was to bestow certain effects upon the blood of the caster or a subject, so as to change what it inherently was or could do. This was, according to James, what Meerlinda had done to Harry; she had made him into a vampire's thrall, and then used blood magic to make the abilities of that state inherent to him. So while he was no longer her thrall, he still retained the powers it had granted him. Harry made a mental note to thank Meerlinda when he returned to London.

Almost an hour went by before food suddenly appeared in front of him, and Harry calmly went about picking himself a breakfast. He ate it at a leisurely pace, reading while he did. He was happy that he had his own room in the Slytherin dungeons, seeing as he could then use it as his own private study and library. All he needed now was a few magical means of guarding it. He had read something about 'warding' in one of his books. It would be worth a shot to try reading further into it. As it was, he kept his pouch and purse on him at all times, so as to not be robbed. He didn't exactly think anyone would go out of their way to steal from him, but he was Harry Fucking Potter. Who knew what anyone would be brazen enough to try?

Soon, the Great Hall was filling up, and then, he noticed one of the teachers, a man with long, greasy, black hair and dressed in all–black robes walked down the long table handing out what Harry could only assume were timetables. As he reached Harry, the boy didn't miss the small glimmer of both joy and loathing in his eyes as the man handed him his timetable. Harry merely accepted it wordlessly, and went back to his food while browsing it.

 _Charms, Herbology, and double Potions. Alright._

He thoroughly read the rest of the timetable before he crumpled it up and stuffed it in his pocket, confident that he wouldn't forget it, word for word and time for time. When he was done with his breakfast, he stood up and stuffed his book under his arm as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started whistling a merry tune. It wasn't until he made it into the Entrance Hall that he remembered that he didn't know where anything was. He turned and looked at a Ravenclaw student in the middle of her breakfast, most likely a fifth or sixth year.

"Hey, can you tell me where the classes are?" he asked.

The girl choked on her breakfast and stared at him with wide eyes. She then quickly nodded and tried swallowing, only to apparently get some stuck in her throat, and then slamming her fist on the table repeatedly, her face slowly turning red, darker and darker, until Harry realised that it was _really_ bad. He quickly dropped the book and ran behind her, wrapped his arms around her midsection, right under her ribcage, and then squeezed as he leant into her back. The rather sizeable piece of toast came flying out of her mouth, and she was heaving deeply for precious oxygen. Harry started clapping her on the back to help her. He couldn't help the amused smile.

"You know, I've never seen anyone choke on their food when I talked to them."

She didn't lose the red in her face, though Harry suspected it was for different reasons this time.

"Er…" she croaked out, "Transfiguration is on the first floor. Charms and History are on the second floor. Defence is on the third floor, Potions in the dungeons, and Herbology's out in the greenhouses," she seemed flustered and ranted quickly, though Harry understood her perfectly well. "What electives do you have?"

"Ancient Runes and Arithmancy," he said.

"Ah," she said, suddenly very excited, "me too!" She seemed to regret her outburst as she quickly looked away from him. "Runes is on the fifth floor, and Arithmancy on fourth."

"Thank you…" Harry trailed off and extended his hand.

"Oh, Kylie!" she said and shook his hand eagerly. "Kylie Adams!"

"Kylie," he repeated her name, though he put on a slightly husky tone while he did. "Pretty name for a pretty girl. I'll remember that."

He gave her a charming smile, making the girl look away and place her hand on her mouth. He could hear her breathing pick up, even without enhancing his senses. She really was pretty, he decided in his mind. Long, deep–brown hair, fair, blemish–free skin in an age where it was almost unavoidable, and bottomless, hazel irises. Despite wearing robes, Harry could also make out a developing feminine form. Truly, she was quite pretty.

 _Too bad it doesn't really interest me_ , Harry thought to himself. _Though it might put off other girls from pursuing me if I_ _ **did**_ _start dating her. Hmm. Food for thought._

Harry then proceeded to the second floor to attend Charms.

•••

"Now, since we left off with basic movement charms last semester, it seems only fitting we revise some of the charms from last year," Professor Flitwick, a small wizard of almost–definite goblin descent squeaked out to the class.

There were some small mutters and groans of complaint, but everyone pulled their wands out of their pockets. Harry lightly shook his right arm, and his wand came sliding out of his sleeve and fell right into his hand. He'd purchased a wand holster for his arm when he was in Ollivander's shop in Diagon Alley. Harry felt a small chill in his hand as he gripped the piece of wood, but then a comforting warmth surged though him. He looked down at the object.

Ebony and Rougarou hair, 11½ inches, very rigid. It was sleek and black, and having a noticeable hand separated from the rest of the wand by a silver ring engraved with small runes, though it had a small silver pommel, also with runic inscriptions. Harry had recognised them as Elder Futhark runes, seeing as he had a vast knowledge of languages and history. Ollivander had said that it was only a wand he had made as an experiment. He had never worked with Rougarou hair before, and wanted to see how it would work. As Harry waved it for the first time, the tip lit up with a bright, blueish light, illuminating the slightly darkened shop as it was later in the day. Ollivander had proclaimed that he hadn't expected such a powerful response, and was astonished that such a wand would work for _the_ Harry Potter.

" _Rougarou hair is the wand core best suited for the Dark Arts_ ," Ollivander had explained. " _It would seem we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. Maybe even… too great._ "

Harry couldn't help his small smile at the memory.

 _Good for Dark Arts, hmm? Interesting._

"Mr Potter?" Harry heard the sudden call of the small wizard squeak through the noise of the others calling out random spells he didn't know.

"Yes, sorry, what?" Harry looked up at the professor who was standing on a tall stack of books so that everyone could see him.

"I was asking you whether you had gotten around to trying any of the spells that were brought up in the previous school years that you missed, Mr Potter," the small professor said.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said with a small smile and light chuckle. "No, Professor, I haven't. I was under the impression that minors aren't allowed to practice magic outside of school."

"Well, you are certainly right about that," Flitwick nodded. "Would you mind trying a simple levitation charm for me?"

"Not at all."

"Good," Flitwick said and waved his wand. Without a word, a feather appeared in front of Harry. "The incantation is 'Wingardium Leviosa', and the wand movement is a swish and a flick," the teacher demonstrated the movement.

Harry pulled out his wand and went over the incantation and wand movements in his head a few times. He then flicked his wand at the feather.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered, and the feather suddenly started floating upwards, his wand prompting it higher and higher.

"Marvellous!" Professor Flitwick clapped enthusiastically. "Your first try, no less! Well done, Mr Potter! Five points to Slytherin!"

Harry glanced at Blaise, sitting to his right, who held a small smirk. Harry returned it with his own small smirk, and then he waved his wand quite abruptly, and the feather incinerated instantly. Harry flinched lightly, having only meant to try and disconnect the spell from the feather… but he had been thinking about how he had lit the candle the previous night.

"Oh, dear!" Flitwick exclaimed. "Well, accidents do happen, Mr Potter. Keep working, though, and I suspect you will catch up to the rest of the class soon enough."

Harry nodded and stuffed his wand away before he picked up the book on first year charms he had bought and kept reading. He had three years of magical education to catch up to, and he wasn't about to let the chance slip him by.

•••

"So," Professor Pomona Sprout, a somewhat large woman with curly grey hair and a boisterous attitude said, "who can tell me what this plant is?"

She held a pot with a rather normal–looking plant, one with purple blossoms that Harry instantly recognised. He raised his hand, along with a few Hufflepuffs.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" the professor asked kindly.

"It's aconitum variegatum, a genus of over 250 species of flowering plants belonging to the family Ranunculaceae. It contains large quantities of the alkaloid pseudaconitine, which is a deadly poison traditionally applied to arrows during hunt or in war."

Everyone around him, even Sprout, seemed surprised.

"Really?" she asked. "Is this from your Muggle education, Mr Potter?"

"It is, Professor," Harry nodded.

"Well, then, since you mentioned its poison, would you happen to know how it can be spotted?"

"Sure. The initial signs are gastrointestinal, including nausea, vomiting, and diarrhoea. Then comes a sensation of burning, tingling, and numbness in the mouth and face, and of burning in the abdomen. In severe poisonings, pronounced motor weakness occurs and cutaneous sensations of tingling and numbness spread to the limbs. Cardiovascular features include hypotension, sinus bradycardia, and ventricular arrhythmias. Other features may include sweating, dizziness, difficulty in breathing, headache, and confusion. The main causes of death are ventricular arrhythmias and asystole, or paralysis of the heart or respiratory centre. The only _post mortem_ signs are those of asphyxia."

Even Sprout seemed to have difficulty keeping up.

"Excuse me?"

Harry sighed a little.

"It means that you feel a burning sensation in your face and stomach, you get an upset stomach, your skin starts itching, what kills you is your heart and lungs working irregularly, and when you die, the only sign of what killed you is suffocation, like being smothered with a thick pillow or just having an extremely bad panic attack. It was quite a popular poison in France a few centuries ago, though before that, it was heavily used in Italy by opposing city–states and families who all vied for political power. The most famous use of it was to kill a Roman citizen back in 1501, who was in opposition to the Borgias, the ruling family of Italy whose patriarch, Rodrigo de Borja, sat as Pope Alexander the Sixth. He and his entire family was murdered by the pope's son, Cesare, using that very plant," Harry pointed at the flower. "The only other real use I can remember is that it's also called aconite, monkshood and wolf's bane, the last because it was supposedly able to kill werewolves."

"Well, ten points to Slytherin, I should say!" Professor Sprout exclaimed. "Very good, Mr Potter!"

Harry noticed Daphne across from him and Blaise looking away, though her eyes would occasionally wander back to him. Harry sent her a smile every time they did.

•••

Severus Snape, the Slytherin's Head of House and the Potions professor, marched into the dungeon where Gryffindor and Slytherin were to have double Potions together. Harry was by no means ignorant, in any way; he noticed how the Gryffindors sent glares towards Snape, though what did surprise him a little was how Harry seemed to earn the same kind of glares from them, as well. Harry could understand with Snape: most likely, he was highly biased against Gryffindor and for Slytherin, but that didn't explain why he himself had earned the same glares after less than 24 hours spent in the castle.

"Get out your books," the professor said with a monotone and uninterested voice. "Turn to chapter one, page eight. We will be brewing the Wit–Sharpening Potion. Hopefully, if you can brew that, you may be able to gain a leg–up from dunderheads to barely competent."

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards.

 _He just called his students idiots?_

He then looked around, and saw more than a few Gryffindors apparently giving up, not to mention a boy who seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

 _Well, no fucking shit, they're dunderheads! You're not exactly encouraging them!_

Harry shook the comment out of his head. He knew perfectly well that such a stance when in an instructing position would get students absolutely nowhere. He was starting to really appreciate James and Meerlinda's teachings just within the first seconds of Potions. Nonetheless, Harry pulled his book out of his pouch. He then looked through the list of ingredients of the potion and started pulling out the small glass jars labelled with potion ingredients that were listed in the potion's description.

"Mr Potter, did I tell you to take out the ingredients yet?" came the disgusted voice of Severus Snape.

Harry froze, and then slowly looked up until he saw Snape standing right in front of his desk, which he shared with Blaise. Harry stared into the man's black eyes, his own green ones intense like a storm contained in a small glass sphere.

"No, but I–"

"No 'buts', Mr Potter," Snape interrupted. "Five points from Slytherin."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and then he slowly got up from his seat and stood to his full height, standing just a few inches shorter than Snape.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked coldly. "I was under the impression we were going to brew a potion, _sir_ ," Harry added slightly mockingly. "To brew a potion, you need the correct ingredients, yes?"

"That is irreleva–"

"I assure you, it most certainly is _not_ , unless you have no respect for your own field, _Professor_ ," Harry said, the disgusted and hateful glare of the man in front of him doing absolutely nothing to even remotely frighten him. "Order and overview is essential to good work, which is why I have the ingredients in nice, clear glass jars, labelled and with symbols to represent if they're toxic or not. Now, if you don't like how I work, a very organised and orderly manner, mind you, I would be more than happy to leave and study potions on my own. At least then I might get something done. I mean, just look at your students," Harry gestured out over the Gryffindors. "They hate you. And that boy," he gestured at Neville, who shrank in his seat, "he's absolutely **terrified** of you! Don't get me wrong, fear can be a great motivator under the right circumstances," Blaise snickered next to him, "but not when you need to _teach_! That makes you an incompetent educator."

Snape glared at the boy, Harry could see the seething fury in the man's eyes.

"Detention for two months, every evening at ten, Potter," the man said and turned around.

"Yeeeeaah, no," Harry smirked and sat back down. "I'm taking this up with the headmaster."

There were gasps in the room, mostly from surprised Gryffindors. Nobody had expected a Snake to stand up for a Lion, least of all Neville Longbottom. Snape turned and glared at Harry once more.

"Get out of my classroom," he spat.

"Happily," Harry shot back and started packing his things.

"Leave them," Snape said.

"Not a chance," Harry countered.

When he was done, he walked towards the door and opened it, though he hesitated once it was open. He then turned around and looked over the class.

"If anyone wants to join me in a Potions study–group, I'll be in the Great Hall."

He then walked out of the door and didn't look back.

•••

Harry sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall with a small, blank book and his Potions books lying around him. He was in the middle of writing down ingredients and their various properties when he heard footsteps nearing him. He looked up, and to his extreme surprise, there stood the boy who'd looked terrified of Snape, his things packed in the bag hanging off his shoulder. He seemed very nervous, though.

"W–wou–," he stammered, but then gathered his wits. "Would you h–help me study P–Potions?"

"Sure," Harry said and gestured to the bench on the other side. "Have a seat."

The boy sat down and started unpacking his own things.

"I'm… Neville L–Longbottom," he said.

"Harry Potter," Harry said and reached his hand over the table to the boy, "but I'm sure you knew that."

Neville very cautiously took Harry's hand and lightly shook it.

"Now, Mr Longbottom," Harry began, "what can you tell me about…" he looked over the ingredients list, "flobberworms?"

"Well, they're these… kind of… well they're these big, brownish worms, about ten inches long with a head in each end that don't have teeth, so… they need to be fed shredded lettuce."

"Hmm," Harry scribbled down a small note under 'Flobberworm Mucus', "and what about their mucus?"

"Well, it thickens potions," Neville lightly shrugged, very slowly seeming to lose the nervousness that he had initially displayed. "Its most important use is in the Wiggenweld Potion."

"Wiggenweld Potion?"

"Yeah, it's a healing potion. It helps injuries heal faster and can wake people up from magical sleep, like a Sleeping Draught."

"Nice," Harry grinned a little, and he didn't fail to catch Neville's own little grin. "So it would seem that outside of the classroom, you're pretty competent after all."

Neville looked at Harry with shock.

"Oh, I noticed how Snape makes you feel," Harry explained. "You'll never amount to anything in that classroom." Neville had an almost pitiable look on his face. "Out here, though… I think you could get far."

Neville's eyes widened as he looked at Harry's small smile.

"Now… let's get to it, shall we?"

•••

Neville was in the middle of a rather fascinating explanation of the properties of a magical plant called 'gillyweed' when the pair were interrupted by a small group of students coming over to them, about the time double Potions ended. Harry and Neville both looked up, and Neville instantly looked like he had soiled his pants at the sight.

"Nev, what'd you think you're doing, hanging with a snake?" came the authoritative voice of one Ronald Weasley, followed by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.

"Uh, I, ah," Neville tried, becoming flustered and unable to find the words he was looking for.

"He was tutoring me in a little Herbology," Harry said with a small smile. "By the way, is 'snake' a kind of Hogwarts slang for 'Slytherin'?"

"You disappoint me, Potter," Ron said with disgust in his voice. "You, The Boy Who Lived, being a Slytherin. What wouldn't your parents think?"

Harry looked at Ron with an amused smile.

"Not much, considering they're food for worms and maggots," he said in a very blasé fashion. "After all, they _are_ dead and buried. Now, they've been undergoing the process of decomposition for thirteen years, so there shouldn't be much more than bones and a little ligament– and muscle tissue left."

Every one of the Gryffindors looked at him with slight disgust and horror in their faces at how he described it. Harry looked at them with a strange, knowing smile.

"What? That's what happens when dead bodies decompose in the ground. Do you want more details? If so, I can point you to a remarkably detailed and accurate description o–"

"How dare you talk like that about your parents!?" Ron shouted out.

"Because they're dead," Harry said, still smiling but all humour drained from his voice. "The dead don't matter. Only the living. And, to turn that question around, how dare _you_ talk about my parents as if you knew them?"

Ron spluttered, and while Finnegan seemed just as outraged as Ron, Dean did seem uncomfortable with the two other Gryffindors. But, as much as he seemed to regret it, judging by his face, he followed the two others as they stormed off, outraged. Harry shrugged and asked Neville to go on with his explanation.

•••

Harry made his way to the Slytherin dungeons that evening, having spent the rest of the afternoon studying Potions with Neville in the Great Hall. Neville had turned out to be a nice conversationalist, and when Snape wasn't there to pass unrighteous and unfair judgement of the boy's very existence, he seemed to actually know his stuff fairly well. He made the excuse that potion ingredients were mostly plants and parts of magical creatures, and as such, he knew some from Care of Magical Creatures and a lot from Herbology. Harry had slowly started encouraging the boy more, and the nervous boy had soon lost all nervousness around Harry. When they parted at the staircase, Neville happily waved at Harry, and Harry returned it with a smile.

Harry soon reached the common room of his House, and he entered after muttering 'pureblood' at the wall.

 _How ostentatious_.

When he entered, he found almost the entirety of the House standing in there, the first years excluded. They stood in a partial circle, with the head boy and girl standing a little in front of the others, clearly all to address him.

"So," the girl dawdled. "Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. In Slytherin, no less."

"Seems a bit fishy to me," the boy said. "Was it Dumbledore that sent you here? A spy in our midst? Very poor strategy."

Harry snorted lightly, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"It would indeed have been a foolish strategy," he answered. "No, the Sorting Hat sent me here. Said this place suited me the most."

"Riiight," the girl said and moved over to Harry, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Because that seems plausible," she calmly said and let her hand lightly trace around his shoulders as she moved around him, her eyes wandering his form, "seeing as you took down the Dark Lord."

Harry smirked and shrugged.

"I couldn't say. I was, what, a year old? How should I know what happened?"

"Dumbledore must have told you," the boy said as he crossed his arms, lightly frowning at the girl's ministrations.

Harry couldn't keep the small, shit–eating grin off his face.

 _They're an item, are they?_

Before anyone could react, least of all the head girl, Harry wrapped an arm around her waist and placed his hand on her hip. It helped that he was somewhat tall for a fourteen–year–old, and that women were somewhat shorter than men on average.

"I'd never seen the man until the Sorting," Harry stated and held the girl close to his side. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he looked at the girl with a seductive smirk and intense eyes, making her lightly blush, "I would like to get to know you a little bit."

The head boy snarled, and whipped out his wand.

"Get your filthy half–blood hands off of her!" he yelled out.

"But you're a half–blood yourself, aren't you?" Harry asked innocently, though anyone with half a mind could hear the mockery dripping off his words. "Unless I'm mistaken, you're Jonas Soriens. Son of Harper and Natalie Soriens. And what was your mother's blood–status again?" he faked a pondering expression. "Ah, right! She's a Mug–"

Before he could finish the sentence, a jet of red light streaked towards him, and acting on reflex, he pulled the head girl in front of it, not flinching in the slightest as the spell struck the girl in the chest as she fell in front of him. She landed on the floor with a 'thud', and didn't move in the slightest.

"Muggle–born," Harry finished.

"Sara!" he called out and dropped his wand as he took the first few steps forward.

"Nah–aah," Harry chided with a grin as he placed his shoe on the back of the girl's neck. "Stop moving."

Jonas stared at him with wide eyes.

"You wouldn't," he muttered in slight fear.

"Try me," Harry said and noticeably placed a little more pressure on the foot resting on Sara's neck. "Stand down."

Jonas' eyes flitted between Harry's eyes and the foot he had placed on Sara's neck. As the boy was hesitating, Harry added a little more pressure, and Sara's head slowly came around. If Harry only lightened the pressure of his other foot, Sara's neck would snap.

Jonas realised it, and he took a few steps back, making Harry smile.

"Good," he said, as if addressing an impressive display by a student. "I'm going to tell you what is going to happen, and if you don't follow it to the letter, your girlfriend here might find herself having a really bad time."

Jonas swallowed, and the rest of the House had long since silenced, shocked at the cold, callous display of might.

"You're going to leave me the fuck alone," Harry simply stated. "Understood?"

Jonas nodded weakly.

"Good."

Harry then pulled his foot off of the girl's neck and walked over to a plush armchair, looking expectantly at the head boy. When the head boy did nothing, Harry gestured to the chair in front of him. Jonas quickly walked over and sat down. The whole House followed, standing in a few rows beside the two chairs, excited and scared at what might happen next.

"Let me clear up some myths and rumours for you," Harry said and crossed his legs, leaning back and relaxing. "I only learned of my magical heritage back in June, June 17th to be precise. In the Muggle world, you see, I'm quite the celebrity; two years ago, I borrowed some money from my adoptive mother and started my own firm. Since then, through good connections and wise investments, I have had many jobs in the firm, and earned quite a bit of money. Then, June 17th, someone visited me and started talking about a Statute of Secrecy and meddling with Muggle affairs. At the time, I thought magic was a literary tool used in fairy tales and myths of ancient times. Turns out, magic was real. So, when the man took me to Diagon Alley, I discovered that I was also a celebrity there, known for something I didn't do myself. Over the past four months, I have been studying wizarding laws, politics, economics, and social culture for hours on end. When I came here, I was sorted into Slytherin, and here we are, sitting down and having a short, yet surprisingly civil and pleasant conversation. Do you have any things you want to ask me, or am I free to go?"

Jonas sat quietly, still reeling over what had just happened, but he did stammer out a question.

"H–how do y–you kn–"

"Simple," Harry said. "When I was in Diagon Alley, I made sure to ask the goblins in Gringotts if there was a register of the students of Hogwarts. They told me I had to contact the Ministry for that information, and so I did. A week or so later, after my inquiry with the Ministry, they sent me a list of the student of the coming school year. I simply looked up your family name, along with the names of every student presently in the castle," there were slight murmurs of astonishment and disbelief in the small crowd, "and made sure to take notes. Your mother's name, however, wasn't mentioned in the charter of the pureblood Soriens family, so I suspected she married in. However, I never found a Natalie in any of the other pureblood families currently in Britain, so I suspected she, at least, wasn't pureblood. The part about her being muggleborn was purely conjecture, that you just proved to me with your reaction, and with the very question I'm addressing now."

Jonas looked at Harry with confused, yet still scared eyes.

"You didn't know?"

"No, I did not," Harry confirmed. "Merely a stray–thought, which seemed to hold some merit. Now, is that all?"

Jonas stared at the boy for a little, before he nodded and quickly rushed over to his girlfriend.

"I hope you didn't do anything permanent to her," Harry said, though his voice indicated that he really didn't care. "And be ready to defend yourself from her when she wakes up."

Just as Harry was about to stand up, another boy, this time one of Harry's own age, sat down in front of him, a confident, and frankly very nauseating expression on his face. His hair was blond and slicked back, and his eyes light grey in colour. As soon as he sat down, two big, hulking brutes each took a place behind the chair to either of his sides.

"So, Potter," the boy dawdled.

 _Why do they all dawdle?_

"And you are?"

"Draco Malfoy, of t–"

"The Noble House of Malfoy, yes," Harry nodded. "I've read about your family."

"Oh really?" the boy seemed delighted. "Only good things, I hope."

"Pfft, not really," Harry lightly snorted. "A dark family, immigrating in from France with Armand Malfoy, who befriended King William I. Your family's origins are certainly… noteworthy, but your recent history is all but good. Pompous pricks with a penchant for dark arts, bribery, and even joining the Dark Lord Voldemort, starting with your father."

The boy's face seemed to redden as he frowned.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with that," Harry said. "I just said that that's what I read about your family. Honestly, I respect your House quite a bit."

The red instantly vanished from Draco's face, and he smiled.

"So, you see reason after all. If you want, I would be glad to have you as a friend."

Draco extended his hand towards Harry, and Harry leant forwards and lightly shook it.

"I don't know about 'friends', but let's say acquaintances, for now," the oldest of the new Slytherins said.

"Hmm, not rushing into anything," Draco smirked. "Fair enough. Caution is a good trait."

"Indeed," Harry nodded, and then looked at the goons behind the boy. "And they are?"

"Vincent Crabbe," Draco gestured to the one on his left, "and Gregory Goyle," he gestured to the one on his right.

"Hmm," Harry hummed. He then stood up from the chair. "Well, I'm headed off to bed."

"Just one thing," Draco said as Harry moved past the chair, and the gathered crowd made way for him. "That thing, with Longbottom, today; never do it again."

Harry stood silently for a little while, and people were getting a little anxious for his response. None of them expected the chuckling, however. Harry turned around, still chuckling, and looked at Draco.

"You don't decide who I see and don't see, Draco," Harry said. "I do."

With that, and an indignant frown from Malfoy, Harry went to bed and made sure to lock his door.


	4. Chapter 4

The Tournament Begins Hogwarts Castle, Scotland October 30th, 1994

Harry sat in the library, surrounded by books and pieces of parchment he wrote down notes on. The past two months, he had been busy in his free time with studying up on and practicing all the subjects he was behind in (all of them). Once in a while, however, he took to researching magical law, and the pureblood systems and families. By now, he had learned almost everything there was to learn about his own family… at least, back to the 12th century. His ancestor, Hardwin Potter, had married a woman, Iolanthe, of unknown origin, though there had been rumours that she was from a noble family herself.

Linfred of Stinchcombe, Hardwin's father, was known as a kindly, eccentric man who tinkered in his garden with wondrous, magical plants and used them to brew magical remedies for the Muggle villagers' diseases and illnesses. As a result, he was very well–liked, and was known as the potterer, which eventually made him known as "Linfred Potter". Hardwin married Iolanthe Potter, and from there, it kept going down the line. It immediately jumped out at Harry that the first child of a Potter was always a boy, and there had only been a few happenstances since Linfred where a Potter had sired more than one child.

It was a pattern. Always a male heir, never female. Something had to be passed down from father to son if it was so predictable. A gene, maybe? Some inherent trait? Or maybe, most likely…

"An heirloom," Harry muttered to himself and looked up from his research. "Something that needs to be kept secret. If that's the case, then Iolanthe must have brought it into the family when she married Hardwin. An item of incredible power or rarity. Maybe even a legendary artefact."

Harry's eyes flickered around, skimming over mental images that he had ingrained into his memory. A small thing jumped out at him, and he focused on it. A triangle, with a circle and a vertical line inside. A small symbol he had seen on a book in the section where they kept tales and legends. Harry stood up and strode over to the section he remembered seeing the symbol in. He started browsing the shelves, skimming over the titles, looking for a small, leather–bound book called _Tales of Beedle The Bard_. He let his finger glide over the spines of the books, until he found the book he looked for. He pulled it out and found the dog–eared page. He saw the symbol once more, and then quickly read through it.

"Death was impressed, gave each brother a gift, hmm…"

Harry's eyes then widened a little.

"A wand of elder wood, more powerful than any other. A stone which lets you see your lost loved ones. And a cloak, granting its wearer invisibility, strong enough to hide from even Death himself."

Harry sighed a little.

"A children's tale is hardly a valid source of information," he muttered and closed the book before placing it back on the shelf.

He stood there silently for a few minutes, thinking.

 _Albus Dumbledore probably knows more. Problem is, I can't exactly walk up and ask him about a wand of elder, a resurrection stone, or an invisibility cloak without raising red flags. McGonagall? No, she's deputy headmistress, she would inform him as soon as I leave. Not Sprout, not Snape… Flitwick? Hmm… No. Not Binns, either, he's a ghost and probably not interested in anything non–goblin related._

Harry then walked out of the small aisle of bookshelves and looked around at the multitude of other aisles.

 _There must be a reference to some kind of index over known magical artefacts of some repute somewhere in here. If I can find that… maybe._

Harry sighed and proceeded back to his workstation, but when he sat down, he remembered another bite of information. He immediately started rifling through the pages of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. Finally, he landed on the pages he was looking for, with the headline 'Peverell'. He ran his finger down the provided family tree, and smirked with glee as he found a small, neatly written name.

"Iolanthe," he muttered to himself with a victorious bubble in his chest. "Iolanthe Peverell. Well, hello there, dear ancestor of mine."

He then read the pages detailing the Peverell family again. An ancient pureblood family, notorious for their unsubstantiated status as proficient necromancers. He then noticed a small footnote, written by a hand he recognised, though the ink seemed to have dried very long ago, and the writing he had seen was only a small sample of it.

" _Peverell = Creators of Deathly Hallows?_ " he read.

Harry then stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and unfurled it. He then smoothed it out and held it next to the footnote; it was his Hogwarts acceptance letter. And it just so happened that the cursive handwriting in the book almost perfectly matched the signature at the top of the letter:

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry grinned. "Got you."

•••

Albus was sitting in his office, gently stroking Fawkes, the beautiful, scarlet phoenix that was his faithful familiar through many years. Suddenly, a knock came from the door to his office.

"Come in," he called out.

He had to admit that he was surprised when the person entering was the fourteen–year–old Harry Potter.

"Mr Potter," Albus said and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you so close to the arrival of the other schools?"

Harry walked up and took the offered seat, a book under his arm and a piece of parchment marking one of the pages.

"Well, you see Professor, I came across something that I know Madam Pince would _never_ stand for," the boy said with an expression of nervousness on his face. "Here," he placed the book on the desk, opened it, and turned it around so that Dumbledore could see.

Albus was quite curious, as he had noticed that it was a copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. He leant over and looked.

"That's your writing, Professor," Harry said and pointed at the small footnote, and then at the headmaster's signature on the acceptance letter.

Dumbledore smiled a little.

"Ah, yes," he said, amused. "I wrote that in my youth. Not the wisest decision, might I add."

"Well, I was wondering if you could perform a spell to remove it?" Harry asked. "I wouldn't want Madam Pince to think I wrote it."

"Hmm…" Dumbledore looked at Harry with a piercing gaze. "You're studying up on wizarding families, you carry around your acceptance letter, and you just happen to land on the Peverell family," the older man stated. "You wish to ask me about the Deathly Hallows, do you not?"

Dumbledore smiled a little wider at Harry's momentarily surprised look, but the boy then settled into a very relaxed position.

"Yes, I do," the boy admitted. "I've been researching my own family. 'Know your roots' and all?" Dumbledore nodded understandingly. "I reached the conclusion that, since no reference about the Potter family related to Iolanthe, she must have been hiding something. Something big, something important. That made me think of a family heirloom, possibly from a very powerful family. I also noticed that nowhere in any reference to the Peverells do they write who Iolanthe married, nor what her last name became after she married. It's as if someone wanted to erase the connection between the Peverells and the Potters. That would only make sense if, somehow, Ignotus had found or created an artefact of immense power that needed to be passed down secretly."

Dumbledore nodded, though he was far from pleased. He was pleased that Harry had become so inquisitive and intelligent, but it was the way he seemed to go about it, how he seemed to rely on thinking people untrustworthy, that made him displeased.

"So, I was thinking on my way here…" Harry said and paused, before he looked Dumbledore straight in the eyes, taking Dumbledore by surprise with the sheer intensity and inquisitive nature hidden in those emerald green eyes that had once belonged to Lily Evans. "Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus are the three brothers in the story, aren't they? And the objects they received from Death, they're the Deathly Hallows, which they themselves created, no? That is, according to your footnote."

Dumbledore leant back in his chair and studied the boy closely. Harry wasn't asking. He was stating, and looking for the slightest hint in Dumbledore's face that he was correct. Dumbledore recalled a young man, just as bright and clever, if not less so, whose ambition had led him down a dark, dark path. Now that he thought about it, not only did they look rather similar, but the way Harry carried himself, how he seemed to be so confident in himself and see himself as superior in some way… Dumbledore felt a twang of regret in his heart as he recognised Tom Riddle in the Potter scion.

Dumbledore slowly stood up from his chair and walked over to a cabinet, where he quickly waved his hand over the door and muttered some words, before he opened it. He took a soft package and turned around before he walked over to Harry and held the package for the boy to take.

"This is rightfully yours, Harry," Albus said as the boy accepted the package. "Your father lent it to me for study a few weeks before the incident at Godric's Hollow. I think you should have it."

Harry looked slightly suspiciously at Dumbledore, but he nonetheless started opening the wrapping around the soft package. When it was open, his heart jumped up in his throat, and his hands started lightly shaking at seeing the dark fabric inside. He picked it up, and felt the material, soft as if water was woven into the fabric. He grabbed the cloak and stood from his chair as he held it in front of him. He turned it around and saw right through it.

"The Cloak of Invisibility," he muttered.

"Yes," Albus confirmed.

Harry looked at Dumbledore, and his eyes widened just as Dumbledore turned away from him; the headmaster pulled out his wand and waved it lightly, making a small bowl of lemon drops float towards them from the headmaster's desk.

"Lemon drop?" he asked as he took one for himself and stuffed his wand back into his robes.

Harry folded up the Cloak over his arm and accepted one.

"Well, since you offered."

The pair stood there as they both popped a sweet into their mouth.

"Thank you for returning it," Harry said and raised the arm carrying the Cloak.

"Of course," Dumbledore said and, with another quick wave of his wand, the wrapping once containing the discussed object vanished into thin air.

"Just a question," Harry said. "Is that the Elder Wand?"

Dumbledore scrutinised Harry's eyes carefully, and then nodded.

"May I see it?"

Dumbledore pulled it out of his hidden pocket again and handed it to Harry. Harry placed the Cloak on the chair he had occupied and accepted the wand with both hands. He lightly rolled the piece of elder wood with his fingers, studying it closely.

"Just three months ago, I would have considered this all drug–induced madness," Harry commented. "Now, I'm holding the world's most powerful wand, and have been given another of the Deathly Hallows. This is all straight out of a fairy tale."

"How are you adjusting to your new world?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Well, I would say," Harry looked at the man and, without a shred of hesitation, handed the wand back. "I'm still learning, and spending all my free moments to catch up to the others is tiring, but those things aside, I think it's going well."

Dumbledore had been wrong, he knew that now.

 _Tom Riddle would never have handed the wand back without so much as a regretful or possessive glint in his eye. Harry doesn't want power. It would seem that he wants success, more likely. Interesting._

"Well, you did come in halfway through your peer's magical education," Dumbledore said and walked around the boy towards the door to the office. "Hide the Cloak, will you? We have to go and greet the other schools."

Harry nodded and stuffed the Cloak in his school bag as he followed Dumbledore out of the door and down the staircase guarded by the gargoyle.

"I want to be best prepared for a business or political career, though," Harry said as they walked along the corridors at a leisurely pace.

"Ah, yes!" Dumbledore exclaimed, and then extended a hand to the boy. "Congratulations with the firm! I never got around to say it before, but I can't help but swell with pride; 'Youngest CEO in history!'"

Harry let out a small guffaw of laughter and shook the offered hand.

"Thank you! I worked hard for it."

"It's good to see such brilliance in the next generation," Dumbledore said. "It lets old men like myself rest easy that the world won't just crumble when we're gone."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without my adoptive parents," Harry said. "They taught me almost everything I know, and they funded the capital I needed to get my company started. I'm thinking of expanding to the wizarding world."

"Really?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Harry nodded with a smile. "I think the wizarding communities could do well with some changes. Not major ones, mind you. I'm thinking more along the lines of making public transit for magical families travelling with children, you know. Or establishing some scholar funds to the poorer and needier families sending their children to school, things like that."

"Well, we already have such a thing at Hogwarts," Dumbledore commented, "though it unfortunately only applies to orphans at the moment."

"See, I'm thinking of investing in that," Harry said. "And expanding it. Take donations from the public where they feel they want to and can afford it, send it to a fund in Gringotts, and then budget school supplies for the prospective students. I'm also thinking of purchasing some establishments in Diagon Alley and centralise the income, and then send a percentage to that fund. Hogwarts is, after all, the most important school in the British Isles. For magicals, at least."

"I find your ideas very interesting, Harry," Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "You certainly have ambitions, no doubt a Slytherin trait. And it would seem you have the knowledge to make those ambitions come true…" Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Why don't you come by my office next weekend with a draft of a business plan? I should very much like to see it."

Harry wasn't sure in the beginning that he would ever come to really like the teachers. But Dumbledore seemed so… human. Relatable, even as he was the highest authority figure in the school. He felt a certain feeling in his chest he had only ever felt for James and Meerlinda: true, undeniable respect.

"Yeah, certainly," Harry nodded with a smile.

"Magnificent!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Oh, I wanted to start my own business once. Nothing ever came of it," he muttered as he leant closer to Harry for a second, making the youth snicker. "But it would certainly be interesting to hear of your plans and exploits."

"I would appreciate sage advice from time to time," Harry returned.

"And I would be happy to provide it, dear boy," Albus said as they stepped onto the grass, having made their way to where the rest of the school was gathered. "Now, time to welcome our esteemed guests. Have a pleasant evening."

Harry nodded and walked over to the rest of the Slytherin House. He quickly found his way to Tracey, Daphne and Blaise. Blaise and Tracey had warmed up to him well, and Harry would even consider them friends. Daphne, however, was still as distant as ever.

"Charming even the headmaster now, Potter?" asked Tracey with a smile, and used her hip to lightly bump him.

"Why, of course, Davis," Harry returned the hip–bump, smiling as well. "What kind of Slytherin would I be if I didn't take full advantage of my position?"

"Just watch out, alright?" Blaise said in a lower voice. "Malfoy's been trying to get a crew together to teach you a lesson."

"And how's that worked out for him?" Harry asked.

"A few've jumped on it," Daphne said out of nowhere. "Mostly other fourth years and a few fifth years."

"Then it's good that I've got a small crew of my own," Harry said and looked over his shoulder at a couple of sixth and seventh year boys. He nodded at them, and they returned it.

"How'd you do that?" Tracey asked with surprise.

"I have my ways," Harry merely diverted with a knowing smirk.

Suddenly, someone called out towards the sky that a dragon was coming. Someone else called the first an idiot and said it was a house. Well, neither was right, but the second was closer. A huge carriage the size of a house came barrelling towards the Hogwarts residents, drawn by a dozen gigantic horses with wings, easily the size of an elephant.

"Those're Abraxan horses," Tracey muttered.

"Well, the French like to make grandiose entrances," Harry muttered back.

"You know Beauxbatons?" Tracey asked.

"No, but I've been to France a few times, and dealt with more than a few Frenchmen," Harry stated. He looked at the others, only to see their confused stares. "My firm mostly deals with most of Western and Central Europe," he explained. "Though, quite a few people from America and Japan have jumped on board as well."

The others nodded slightly. It was quite strange for most of the population of the school to be fellow students to a fourteen–year–old who had started a firm which exchanged millions of pounds every year. There was a particularly annoying girl in their own year, Hermione Granger, who kept pestering him about various things that he was pretty sure he knew more about than she; she would rant on and on about basic economics and business, and even with that, half of what she spouted was wrong. However, Harry didn't want to be seen as a rude bastard, so he indulged the girl.

His interactions with Gryffindors, however, had made him somewhat of a pariah in Slytherin. While the only Gryffindors he had contact with were Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Fred and George Weasley, the other Slytherins still considered him a traitor, even if no one besides Malfoy would say it outright. Ever since his display in the Slytherin common room, everyone besides the group now standing with him had completely avoided him, which suited him just fine. However, Slytherins weren't the only ones to dislike him.

Ronald Weasley, a particularly annoying specimen of the supposedly extinct species Homo neanderthalensis (judging by his intelligence and eating habits), had taken up a habit of insulting Harry, often by using his Gryffindor parents as a template of how Harry _should_ be.

Needless to say, it had gotten old very quickly, and Harry had come to just ignore him.

Soon, the door to the house–size carriage opened, and out hopped a boy dressed in blue silk. He quickly unfolded a golden staircase and stepped aside. Out of the carriage stepped… well, Harry supposed it was a woman, based on the chest–hip ratio, but… the… **height** … w–well it was… _sky–high_. Harry's eyes were wide, and his mouth slightly agape, as a woman easily standing at four metres tall, if not five, stepped out of the carriage. Harry quickly regained control of his jaw and just stared at the woman.

"She is _not_ human," Harry muttered. "Not entirely, at least."

Daphne snorted.

"Obviously. She's a half–giant."

Harry looked at his classmate, his eyes portraying a kind of strange… worry.

" _How the fuck would that even work_!?" he hissed.

"What?" she asked, looking rather uninterested. "Hagrid's a half–giant, too."

Harry turned away and started taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He had read about giants, about how they were humanoid in form and shape, but easily seven to nine metres tall. Just thinking about how a human could even possibly copulate with a giant made his diaphragm shake in protest and try to force up his lunch.

Soon, out of the carriage stepped a bunch of students, mostly girls, all dressed in thin, silken robes of a light blue colour.

"You think anyone told them what the weather here's like?" Tracey leant in and asked Daphne.

"I do, but I don't think they've any idea what those temperatures feel like," Daphne said, still with her uninterested façade.

Harry studied Daphne for a moment. He realised a façade when he saw one, he almost always wore one himself. He was interested, however, in what lay beneath the mask she always put on. He was 99% sure Tracey had seen it, about 60–70% with Blaise, and about 18–20% with Theo Nott, a Slytherin in their year who was somewhat of a loner, and always kept his nose buried in a book. He seemed to be on good foot with the group, though.

Suddenly, Harry noticed, many of the boys of Hogwarts seemed to be focused on something, and most of them became slack–faced, glassy–eyed and a few even slightly drooled. Harry was quite amused to see Ronald Weasley slobbering a small river. He was, however, slightly disconcerted with the effect.

 _A type of mass–emotion–manipulation? Mass–bewitchment?_

Harry looked in the direction they were all looking at, and he saw a girl (girl, woman, same thing) standing in Beauxbatons robes, shivering like the rest of the Frenchies, but Harry recognised something obviously amiss with her; her silvery blond hair. His eyes instantly narrowed.

"And she isn't human either," he muttered, drawing Tracey and Daphne's attention.

"What's your reason for thinking that?" Daphne asked.

Harry looked at them.

"What'd you mean?"

"We know why she isn't human," Daphne said, with Tracey nodding in agreement behind her. "How can _you_ tell?"

"Her hair," Harry said.

The two witches looked at each other.

"She's blond. So?"

"Look at the sheen it casts off," he said. "What colour is the sheen?"

"Silver. Why?"

"Exactly," Harry said. "Out of all genes in the human species' gene pool for blond hair, there is not a single one that gives it such a silver sheen without moonlight."

"Jeans?" Tracey asked.

"No, genes," Harry said. "G–E–N–E–S. The… instructions for your body to follow to make you look the way you look. For example, say your father and all his ancestors are black–haired, and your mother and all her ancestors are blond; which hair colour would you get?"

"Brown?" Daphne asked.

"No, you would get blond," Harry said. "Blond is, in about 80–90% of all cases of Caucasians ("err, white people", Harry explained at their confused look), the dominant gene, and black hair is the recessive, or submissive. So, if your dad has green eyes, which are recessive, and your mother has blue eyes, which are dominant, you would get…?"

"Blue?" Tracey asked.

"Exactly," Harry said. "Returning to the topic at hand, there is no natural gene in the human species that tells your body that your blond hair gets a silver sheen. That can only happen in humans under moonlight, seeing as the light of the moon is a silver–white colour, and well–tended, silky hair like that is reflective, as in it reflects light like a mirror."

"And all this from a little Muggle education?" Daphne asked with raised brows.

"Well, they wouldn't learn about it until about our age in Britain, but yeah," Harry said. "Muggles are incredible creatures, really."

"Alright," Daphne muttered and turned away, seeming to have lost all interest once again.

Harry looked back at the girl, and noticed, to his slight surprise, that she and most of the Beauxbatons students were staring in his direction, pointing and whispering to each other. The non–human girl didn't participate in the whispering, but her eyes were intensely trained on him. He stared back into her eyes, and for a moment, he felt something tug at his chest, but he brushed it off. He tore his eyes away from hers as a loud noise was coming from the lake beside them, and all of a sudden, a ship sprang out from the surface, a full–sized frigate, early 18th century English, if he had to make an educated guess. There were no cannons on it, but it was impressive nonetheless. Soon, a contingent of students, led by a grey–haired and –bearded man came up to the population of Hogwarts; the Beauxbatons students had been led inside by their headmistress, out of the 'frigid cold'.

Harry felt quite fine in his uniform, topped by a blazer he had chosen to wear. Then again, he wasn't wearing the same material racy nightgowns were made of.

Harry noticed that, once again, most of the male population seemed to be affected by the presence of a person, but so were the girls. And not in the same way as before, but as if by the presence of a…

 _Quidditch player?_

Harry looked over, and noticed a single student being led around by the headmaster, as if he were some prize–dog. It was then that he realised that that must be the celebrity people were suddenly whispering excitedly about. Once again, casting a glance towards the Gryffindors, Harry was amused to see Ronald with wide eyes and an excitement comparable to an ADHD child high on sugar.

Harry tuned out everything, having had enough, until he noticed Blaise tapping him on the shoulder, beckoning him to follow.

•••

Harry listened to the whole speech Dumbledore gave to the Welcoming Feast for their guests with half an ear. Well, maybe closer to a quarter or fifth, but he was only dimly aware of the headmaster's speech while he was reading a small book, drawing disapproving looks from some of the more star–struck students of House Slytherin; the Durmstrang contingent had decided to sit down at their table, while Beauxbatons had settled for the Ravenclaw table.

 _Blue must attract blue_ , Harry mused in his head as he kept reading.

Another reason for the disapproving looks, though: the book was in Russian. Brits didn't tend to like Russians all that much. Harry didn't particularly care, it was useful to know the language. On his occasional glances around, he did notice some of the Durmstrang students close to him looking surprised and pleased that he was reading the language. Harry sighed and stuffed the book back in an inner pocket before he pulled out another, making the people around him all look on in disapproval; it was in Arabic.

His parents had taught him quite a few languages. He was fluent in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Latin, and Danish, proficient in Russian, Greek, Arabic, Farsi, Hungarian, Czech, and Albanian, and conversational in Hebrew, Japanese and Mandarin. Well, maybe not _conversational_ , but he could understand the general meaning of most sentences and could convey his own intentions well enough to make sense to the ones he was dealing with.

Harry just waited for the food to appear, which it soon did, and he started eating, dignified as always, yet he also ate quite a fair bit. He had started working out again, after he found a training room with Muggle training equipment on the seventh floor. When he'd asked McGonagall about it, she only looked confused at him and said 'What?'. Harry figured it must have been a previous student who turned a classroom with adjoined baths into a workout room and brought training equipment there somehow, but either way, he took full use of it, working out every evening before he went back to his dorm room. As such, he now became hungrier and more tired, but he relished in getting to use his body to it's limits again. He had also taken to running around the lake, though he only ran two or three times a week. He had always stayed in good shape, as it was essential to good health and a clear mind. He made sure to eat lean meat like chicken, and kept to lettuce and vegetables.

When the meal was finished, Harry waited until the rest of the Slytherin House rose from their seats, and he immediately rose and quickly disappeared in the crowd of green and silver, much to the astonishment and confusion of Blaise, Theo, Daphne and Tracey.

•••

Harry entered the library early Sunday morning, before the sun even rose, and began reading and researching once again. He had solved the mystery surrounding Iolanthe and the Cloak, but he wanted to learn more about Linfred and Ignotus' ancestors. The Peverells were far more ancient than Ignotus, they had to be, and Linfred…

"Shit!" Harry cursed through gritted teeth as he thought about it.

Nothing was known about Linfred of Stinchcombe before he was an adult herbologist and potioneer. How was he supposed to find records about his ancestry? As far as the world was concerned, he was the first of the Potters, and was the one that started the family of pureblood wizards and witches.

There wasn't much else to know. Harry had read about Ralston Potter, Henry Potter, Abraham Potter, Fleamont Potter, and every other Potter he could find anything about. He discovered that his family was quite a respectable and prestigious one, if one discounted how they were incredibly independent and didn't particularly agree with the Ministry of Magic over the ages.

Linfred of Stinchcombe, also known to most who knew him as "The Potterer", was a twelfth–century wizard and a pioneer in poitioneering, inventing many medicinal potions and tinctures.

Hardwin Potter inherited quite a sizable amount of money when his father, Linfred, died, as did each of his six siblings. He then met Iolanthe and married her. Harry suspected that this was when the Invisibility Cloak was introduced into the Potter lineage.

Ralston Potter was a member of the Wizengamot from 1612 to 1652. He was very much for the introduction of the Statute of Secrecy as compared to the other purebloods, who wanted to declare war against the Muggle populace.

Abraham Potter was born in America and became one of the twelve original Aurors in the MACUSA in 1693. He was killed in battle before he could reach old age, and he never had any children, meaning the Potter lineage died out in America.

Charlus Potter was an enigma, as Harry couldn't find any references about him anywhere, other than that he married Dorea Black, and that together, they had a son who was a first cousin to Walburga, Alphard and Cygnus Black III.

Then there was Henry Potter, who was funnily enough known as "Harry" to his friends and family, and who served in the Wizengamot from 1913 to 1921. He was the father of Fleamont Potter, making him Harry's great–grandfather. He was born sometime before the turn of the 20th century, and he had been the source of controversy when he publicly condemned Archer Evermonde, the then–current Minister for Magic, for disallowing wizards from participating in WWI.

Fleamont Potter, born around 1909 and died around 1979, married Euphemia. After his graduation, Fleamont developed Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, sales of which quadrupled the family gold. On 29 November 1926, the Daily Prophet ran a front–page story on how his hair potion had wooed American witches. Upon retirement, he sold the company that made the potion at a vast profit. March 27th, 1960, Euphemia gave birth to James Potter, Harry's father.

Harry sighed and closed his books right after he had opened them. He needed to know where to look to find anything.

"Right, Linfred lived… maybe a few days' travel from Godric's Hollow, otherwise Hardwin couldn't have met Iolanthe. Around the twelfth century, that area was inhabited by… Englishmen and Irishmen. Maybe they were from Ireland…"

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. There was nothing he could do right now, so he sighed once more and opened his spellbooks and magical theory books. He had gotten quite far in Defence so far, and had started reading into the Dark Arts a fair bit. He had even snuck into the restricted section a few times. The Dark Arts… he found them fascinating. Not that he wanted to practice them, but there was something more to it than that they were meant to harm people. The more Harry read, the more he realised that the British had declared many practices as Dark Arts, mostly some of the more ancient forms of magic. Ancient element–manipulation magic, summonings from other realms, dealing with a kind of creature called fae… it seemed that some practices that were merely considered forgotten magics in other countries were labelled dark in Britain.

Harry eventually decided to focus on Charms and Transfiguration for now. He had brought some things to practice spells on and placed them on the table. A skill he had developed, that he had refused to let any of the teachers see, was that he could cast spells without uttering the incantations. He knew Latin, and he knew that the spells' incantations were very wrong and messy Latin, and he did _not_ enjoy deliberately saying gobbledegook to make things happen. He waved his wand, and the small box in front of him suddenly sprouted legs to stand on. He then waved it again, and it started running and jumping around.

It took him almost half an hour to catch the box (it seemed to be able to perfectly dodge every counterspell he threw at it), before it suddenly jumped and crashed out a window.

Harry lightly panicked, and quickly grabbed his things and ran, just as Madam Pince, the strict librarian, entered the room to see what the commotion was about. He ran through the corridors, not eager to be caught by the old woman who was notoriously harsh on kids to mistreated the books and caused a ruckus in the library, her personal domain. He was so caught up in looking behind him to see if she was after him that he didn't notice the girl walking out of a door in front of him until it was too late. He ran head–on into the girl, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Ufff!" Harry groaned as the girl on reflex had swiftly brought her elbow into his gut, punching the air out of him.

"Shit!" the girl exclaimed as the pair fell, and looked at him angrily. "Watch where you're going!"

Harry looked up at the girl he had run into, only to see a mane of bright, red hair, brown eyes, and faint freckles.

"Sorry, gotta run!" Harry quickly said as he got back up and started running.

"Get back here, you scoundrel!" came the raspy voice of the old librarian as she suddenly rounded the corner Harry came from. "You will pay for breaking my window!"

The Weasley girl stared after Harry and Madam Pince as the boy tried to outrun the old witch, who could move surprisingly fast. She couldn't help the giggling that erupted from her at the slight absurdity of the situation.

"Run faster!" she called out after him before she could stop herself. Her giggling then turned into a full laughter.

•••

"Harry, I am deeply disappointed in you," Albus Dumbledore said to the young man sitting in front of him, though the man's voice and constantly twitching lips betrayed him. "You should have owned up to your mistake instead of run."

Harry looked at the strict librarian standing beside Dumbledore, and Snape standing beside her. McGonagall was also there, seeing as he had inadvertently run into a Gryffindor student.

"I said I'm sorry," Harry said. "Besides, it's _one_ window. I can pay for that much."

"You don't need to pay, Madam Pince repaired it as soon as she saw it," McGonagall stated. "Rather, your assault on Ms Weasley is a far more pressing matter."

"Wow, hold it!" Harry exclaimed. "I didn't assault her! I didn't see her while I was run–, I mean, calmly leaving the library after _hearing_ a window break."

"Well…" Dumbledore said. "You will serve three detentions, Monday through Wednesday, cleaning up the library and making sure the books are properly in their categorisations. Can you do that much?"

Harry nodded slightly sheepishly.

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Now, run along. Remember to be in the Great Hall for the selection of the champions."

•••

Which Harry did, sitting at the Slytherin table, surrounded by Tracey, Blaise, Daphne and Theo. The latter of the bunch had started getting used to Harry, and occasionally helped the boy with his Charms study. Daphne had started helping him with Potions, which was strange, but Harry wouldn't say no to such help. And Blaise had started helping him with Transfiguration. As it turned out, Daphne was better than Hermione Granger in Potions, a real poitioneering prodigy. Theo, on the other hand, was a fair bit better in Charms, even if he didn't show that he could outmatch the girl in class. He found it was an advantage to have an ace in the sleeve, a sentiment the other three all unanimously agreed with. And as it turned out, strangely enough, Blaise was incredibly good at Transfiguration, even better than some of the fifth or sixth years.

But over the two months of school, Harry had shown a remarkable aptitude for Defence, and also the Dark Arts. He learned curses, hexes and jinxes like none of the others did, and he was even learning the fourth–year spells the others were, even if he hadn't yet finished the book for their second year. He had also begun reading up on books he had nicked out of Meerlinda's personal library. It was mostly about some of the older magics he had read that Britain classified as Dark, such as Blood Magic, Sacrificial Magic, and Ritual Magic. James had given him a book about a kind of magic called "seiðr", a magic used by the Vikings' wisemen and –women. It relied on runes and various natural remedies, such as potions, herbal medicine, divination, and even such a thing as runic enchantments. He had written to James to ask if it was safe for him to use a few certain rituals written down in the grimoire, written in the fourteenth century by a descendant of those Vikings.

He had gotten a ' **NO!** ' in response. No explanation, no advice, just that: ' **NO!** '.

So of course, Harry had already started gathering the things he needed to perform the rituals.

But as the food vanished from the plates, Harry's thoughts were pushed aside as he looked up at the headmaster of the prestigious school they were currently at.

"The Goblet of Fire is about ready to make it's decision," Dumbledore called out over the gathered student body. "A minute or so, I think."

Silence reigned in the Great Hall for that minute, until suddenly, the flames of the goblet turned red, danced wildly, and shot up into the air, from which fell a piece of singed parchment which slowly drifted down towards Dumbledore. He caught it and read it, and then looked out over the crowd.

"Durmstrang's champion is… Viktor Krum!"

Cheers and applause resounded in the stone chamber, and one of the men from Durmstrang stood up and walked up to the headmaster of Hogwarts. He shook the man's hand and then proceeded through a door behind the teacher's table. A few moments after he left the room, the goblet rumbled again and rose into a fiery pillar once more before the parchment was caught by Dumbledore.

"Beauxbatons' champion is… Fleur Delacour!"

A polite applause came from the room as the veela stood and followed in Krum's footsteps. Finally, the goblet shot out the third and final piece of parchment.

"Hogwarts' champion… is Cedric Diggory!"

Wild roars of cheer came from the Hufflepuff table as said boy, a rather handsome young man stood with a broad, boyish grin stood and followed the two other champions.

"Dear students, I would hope that you would cheer for your champions as the tournament goes on!" Dumbledore called out. "Support them and let them know th–"

Dumbledore stopped all of a sudden, and it was clear to everyone in the hall why he did; the goblet's flames were red and fluctuating wildly once again. All of a sudden, a pillar rose up again and shot out a fourth piece of parchment. Harry looked on in interest, knowing that it was clearly abnormal. Dumbledore caught the parchment and read it over and over again, before he looked over to the Slytherin table.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry froze in his seat, his eyes wide.

"No," he whispered. "It can't be."

Blaise nudged him, but Harry didn't register it.

"HARRY POTTER!" Dumbledore roared.

Harry stood up on wobbly legs, his body feeling as cold as the lake outside. What the hell was going on!? He slowly walked up towards the headmaster, full well knowing that every eye in the room was planted on him. His right hand was beginning to twitch and shake, and he quickly gripped it with his left, his eyes wildly flickering about. He felt an icy sensation run through his chest and head, a sense of dread planting itself firmly in the boy's body. He was too young, and he hadn't even tried putting his name in! Not to mention, he had barely two months of magical education! He couldn't compete in a tournament designed for those with _at least_ seven _years_! He reached Dumbledore at a snail's pace, and in his eyes, Dumbledore seemed like he was down at the end of a dark tunnel, his peripheral shrinking wildly as his breathing was becoming hoarse.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked with concern. "Are you alright?"

Harry could barely nod, and his throat was parched like a desert. The next step he took past Dumbledore, his right foot got caught on his left ankle, and he tripped. He landed roughly on his knees and hands, his breathing reaching the point where he barely even got any oxygen into his bloodstream. He could feel his mind slowly shutting down, not being able to grasp the fact that _someone_ had basically just condemned him to _death_.

Dumbledore knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry!?"

Harry looked Dumbledore in the eye, and the old headmaster recognised the look of a man who knew he was about to die. He placed his hands on Harry's cheeks, and looked him deeply in the eyes.

"Harry, **calm down**."

As soon as the words left Dumbledore's mouth, Harry felt his sight instantly go back to normal and his breathing slowed, as did his elevated heartbeat. After a few seconds, Harry's face went from showing panic to showing… nothing. A cold, dark, empty nothing. Harry merely got to his feet and stood back up. He then walked into the room behind the teacher's table without another word.

When he came down the stairs, he saw the other three champions, all standing collected at the fireplace. Harry walked down and sat down on a chair in the corner with crossed arms and a neutral expression on his face. Miraculously, he didn't care. About _anything_. He wasn't afraid, or panicked. He felt _calm_. _In control_. And that little thought brought a small, wicked smile onto his lips. A smile which quickly left them as the door upstairs opened and several people came down, led by Dumbledore.

"Harry, are you alright?" Dumbledore asked as the first thing, though he seemed astonished to not find the boy down there. "Harry?"

"Here," the boy said from his corner, clad in darkness and practically invisible in the darkened room.

Everyone jumped and looked over there as Harry slowly stood from the chair and very slowly, with deliberate steps walked to the edge of the shadow he was in so that only some of his torso and face was visible.

"Are… you alright?"

"I feel…" Harry paused and looked down at his still hands. "… calm. Exceptionally calm. What did you do to me, Headmaster?"

"I applied a small cheering charm to you," Dumbledore said. "What happened up there?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Elevated heartrate, ragged breath, dizziness, nausea, tunnel–vision, angst…" he muttered off. "All symptoms of anxiety attacks," he then said and looked back up at the headmaster. "I was, in other words, panicking."

"Oh, please," Snape said. "You were pretending to be a victim to earn everyone's sympathy, it was an obvious ruse."

"I can assure you, Mr Snape, that that was no ruse," Harry said and left the shadow, his steps once more deliberate, and his right hand clasped around his left behind his back. "Besides, I neither need, nor _want_ anyone's sympathy. If I did, even _you_ would feel sorry for me."

Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall and Moody all stared at the boy with widened eyes; he was so completely different than what he used to be like.

"Did you put your name in the goblet?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," Harry said simply, without the slightest hint of emotion.

"Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" Madam Maxime accused.

"Right, I'm suicidal!" Harry exclaimed in mock surprise. "How could I have forgotten that someone with only two months of magical education could never hope to compete in an event designed for those with _seven years_!? Dear me, maybe I should see a therapist!"

Dumbledore shook his head lightly.

"I believe you, Harry," he said gravely.

"Per'aps your age–line was faulty, Dumblydorr," Maxime said.

"That's possible," Dumbledore said, and Harry could practically _hear_ the shrug in his statement.

"You know very well that your age–line was perfect, Albus," McGonagall said sternly. "There is no way Mr Potter could have crossed it."

"He got an older student to put it in for him," Snape sneered. "As arrogant as his father, he is."

"That's possible," Harry said, mirroring Dumbledore perfectly.

He noticed the very distinct, yet still well–hidden upwards–twitch of the corner of Dumbledore's mouth, almost making Harry himself grin. He felt his trust in and respect for the older man grow by the second.

"Yet, unlikely," Moody said gruffly. "Potter's a smart kid, and smart people know how to stay out of trouble and how to stay alive. Potter's perfectly aware that the tournament has a death–toll, there's no way he would willingly enter the tournament. I say look at the goblet, check for tampering."

Harry then, in that instant, had a realization. He turned to an older man, one of the Ministry officials in charge of organising the tournament.

"The goblet was supposed to spit out only three names, correct?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "Three names from three schools."

"And yet, it spat out a fourth, meaning it must think there are _four schools_ ," Harry said. "Is the goblet sentient?"

"To an extent," the senior man said. "Why?"

"Could a confusion charm of some kind be used on it?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry.

"The Confundus Charm should do it, if powerful enough," he said.

"So, it must be an adult, since no student could pull it off," Harry continued, and then looked around. "Meaning that the culprit… is likely in this room right now."

By now, it seemed, the Durmstrang headmaster had enough of the games and riddles.

"Can't you just admit that you cheated the goblet and let us get on with this?" he asked with a sneer on his lips. "I do not like to waste time."

"Then it seems we have something in common," Harry said, "but I will never admit to a crime."

Dumbledore didn't miss the wording Harry put forth. The boy, he had noticed, was particularly careful with wording his sentences. He cared deeply about semantics, and would likely use it against people when he noticed that they implied something. But Harry didn't say "a crime I didn't commit." He said "a crime." That little realisation struck a nerve in Dumbledore, but he kept quiet.

"Well, for now, let's just go to bed," Harry said. "I'm beat."

"But you just said the culprit is likely in this room," the stern, old man from the Ministry said.

"Yeah, but he, or her," Harry glanced at Maxime and Delacour, "won't give themselves away, and right now, I just want to sleep. I can catch a killer–to–be tomorrow… or in a week…" Harry yawned. "Or not at all, goodnight."

With that, and before anyone could react, Harry was up the stairs and out of the door. Everyone stared after him, but Harry ignored them. He was quite glad that no one was left in the Great Hall. The trip back to the Slytherin common room was short, but he was immediately faced by Draco Malfoy as he entered, who looked at Harry with a sneer.

 _Why do cunt–wizards sneer so much?_

"So, Potter," the boy spat, his arms crossed and his two goons by his side. "How'd you do it?"

Harry stared Draco in the eyes for a few seconds before he just walked past the boy. Goyle put his hand out and tried to stop the boy, but he swiftly ducked under the boy's arm. An advantage of being lean and practicing martial arts was a certain fluidity to one's movement, and an ease at moving. Before he could reach the corridors holding the dorm rooms, however, a big, pudgy hand clasped his shoulder. His training instantly kicked in, and he grabbed the hand, turned around, and twisted it, bringing Goyle to his knees with a grunt. He then slowly twisted the hand more and more, until the boy slammed his other hand into the floor. Harry released the boy (I _s he mute?_ Harry pondered to himself) and continued on his way to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**The First Task**

 **November 4** **th** **, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry stood near the Black Lake, on the far side away from Hogwarts. He had contacted his adopted father, who was currently walking towards him. Harry was allowed to skip classes, and he was allowed a mentor to help him prepare for the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament. A perfect situation, given that he had to compete, or he would lose his magic to the Goblet of Fire, an event which would likely cause him to die. So, he had reached out to James as soon as he could, and now, said man was getting close to the boy.

"Let's begin," Harry said and started shaking his arms and legs.

He was wearing a pair of sweatpants, a tank top, and a pair of sneakers. All black, naturally.

"Alright," James said and shook off his own coat. "The first thing you need to keep in mind is that even a moment's lapse in focus can backfire quite horribly. You have to show discipline, or this will never work."

"I understand," Harry nodded.

"Good," James said and grabbed something out of his coat's pocket.

It was… a clock.

James placed it on the ground and pressed a button on the top, and suddenly, Harry noticed, the swaying trees around them seemed to stand still.

"Time manipulation?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yeah," James nodded. "There's a similar enchantment on Meerlinda's chantry. That's how you managed to learn so much in your thirteen years there."

"She shifted time so that I could learn?"

"She did," James nodded. "You spent only thirteen years in the chantry, but you have well over a century's worth of study and practice."

"Jesus," Harry muttered. "A century?"

"But let's focus on the here and now," James said. "What I'm going to teach you are very old, very illegal arts, Harry. I'd be surprised if even Dumbledore knows anything about this at all." Harry nodded. "It's powerful magic, _very_ powerful, and you may only use it in a situation where your life is on the line, you understand?" Harry nodded again. "Alright, basics first. The arts I'll teach you have gone by many names, and they've been practiced in various forms over the world. I call it "Battle Magic," because its premise is very simple; you fight to kill your opponent. Now, there are three main parts to it; enhancing your body, enhancing a weapon you wield, and actual spellwork. We'll focus on bodily enhancement and spellwork, since you aren't allowed any weapons in the Tournament. Body enhancement is like your vampiric strength, speed and resilience, only taken to dangerous heights. Excessive use can break down your body on the cellular level, meaning you'll never recover from a bad use of it. However, you can expect the strength to hurl cars or smash boulders with your bare fists. Trust me, even being stabbed in the gut won't hurt, and it won't hinder you."

"Sounds perfect," Harry said, a slight amount of trepidation present in his voice.

"Spellcasting is exactly what it says, but there's more to it," James said. "It's not with your wand, that's a different kind of magic altogether. No, what I'm talking about is ancient stuff; fireballs, lightning bolts, ice spears, things like that. All from the palms of your hands, or even any other area of your skin if you become skilled enough. If you can master this, you can even learn to swat away enemy spells with a mere slap. This is powerful stuff, Harry, and it could end up killing you."

"I almost certainly _will_ die if I do nothing," Harry said, a determination burning in his eyes, "and I can't teach myself how to suddenly master all–new spells. I've barely got the hang of the first year spells."

"And that is one of the strengths of this magic," James went on with a nod. "When you start on this path, you will soon find an instinct in using magic, and your wizardry will become easier as well. Battle magic is all about instinct, reflex, muscle memory. It's 'do or die', and the magic will give you the tools to do, rather than die. But you will find that it becomes harder to keep it locked inside, as well. Your magic will seem to take on a life of it's own, but don't let it fool you; you are still in control, and it's up to you to find a way to tame the magic trying to run wild."

Harry stared James in the eyes for a few seconds.

"I'm ready."

•••

 **November 19** **th** **, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry and James sat outside during the night, under a clear sky with a bright full moon. James was sitting with some bowls, plants, and a traditional tattoo needle. The older man was mixing the herbs together, and then grabbed a small bowl wherein was a deep, red, thick liquid, and the bandages around Harry's left hand left nothing about it's origin to the imagination.

"When I apply these runes, you'll become sick," James said. "Very sick. You may not survive, but I think the chances are rather heavily in your favour, what with your slightly vampiric nature and all. You should be fine in time for the first task if you recover, though."

"What do they do?"

"They enhance your body, and they'll make battle magic easier and safer to use," James explained. "It's an old Norse remedy, powerful seiðr magic. Odin himself is alleged to have used these runes."

"But it may kill me?"

"… Yes."

Sigh.

"Let's do it."

•••

 **November 25** **th** **, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry walked down towards a large tented area, with a large arena, the morning of November 25th, the day of the first task. He was anxiously wringing his hands together, even has he felt the slight burning of the somewhat new tattoos he sported on his chest and arms. He was anxious mostly because he had left his wand back in his dorm room.

" _You can't carry your wand when you use battle magic_ ," James had explained. " _It's a magical focus, and it will disrupt the flow of the power of the battle magic as you use it._ "

Harry reached the tent by the side, clearly the tent where champions were supposed to convene. He entered and looked around. Cedric Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion, was pacing nervously, and looked green in the face. The Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum, leaned against a tentpole, looking sourer than ever. And finally, Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, was sitting in a cot, looking pale and clammy, a slightly haunted look on her face. The sight of them instantly made Harry feel better about himself.

Two of them seemed like they were starting to regret signing up for it, whereas Harry was being forced to participate, and he didn't look anywhere near as bad as they did.

Suddenly, several people barged into the tent, and one of them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, was close to running into Harry.

"Champions!" a short, pudgy and boisterous man wearing robes too small to fit him called out with a gleeful tone and a bright smile on his face. "The time has come!"

Harry snickered as he mentally placed the man in a room, talking to death–row inmates about to face the gallows.

"You will each go out into the arena outside and face a dangerous creature. In a moment, you will each pick a small model of the creature you will face out of this bag," he held up a purple, velvet bag for them to see, which was squirming and moving about. "There are… different variants, you see."

"Can ve just get on wiz it?" Krum asked sourly.

The cheery man seemed taken aback and subdued, but nodded nonetheless.

"Ms Delacour, ladies first," he opened the bag.

Said girl stood up and slowly walked over to the man. She reached into the bag with a shaking hand, and when she pulled it out, there was a small figure (a **moving** figure) of a _dragon_. Harry felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Dragons?" he croaked out and looked up at Professor Dumbledore, who nodded gravely.

"Dragons," he said in a quiet tone, suddenly looking and sounding much older than he usually did. "I hope you've spent your time wisely, Harry."

Harry nodded and waited for his turn, as Diggory and Krum each pulled out their own dragons. Then, the bag was extended to Harry, and he took a deep breath. Then, suddenly, a rush of calm rolled over him, a meditative technique James had taught him during their training. With a hand as still as stone, he reached inside and pulled out a small, wicked–looking, black dragon, which bared its fangs at him. Harry merely stared at the small creature, his eyes as cold as the grave, and so intense that they looked like they glowed with polar lights. The dragon miniature stopped growling at him and started whining as he continued to stare at it with those cold, uncaring eyes promising death upon the small creature.

"Well, Mr Diggory. When the cannon fires, –"

Suddenly, the cannon went off with a loud bang, catching everyone but Harry by surprise. Harry was too focused on his small dragon which was starting to cower in his hand. He barely noticed the other two cannon shots, and then looked up. He was the only one remaining in the tent. He took some deep breaths as he heard the cannon go off once more, and he stuffed the dragon miniature in his pocket. He then took resolute, determined steps through the tent and out of an opening. He shrugged off his track jacket, and revealed his strong, lean arms, now covered with large, blood–red tattoos of various symbols, circling his arms.

He walked into the arena, prepared as he would ever be to face a dragon.

" _This kind of body enhancement and spellcasting takes a tremendous amount of energy, so you need to finish it quickly_."

Harry took a few deep breaths as the Hungarian Horntail, a vicious–looking dragon with an even more brutal reputation, came into view. He calmed and focused himself. Freaking out would only get him killed. Yet as he stood there, Harry felt something he had never experienced before. He wasn't performing strenuous activity, but his heart was beating quickly, and he felt more awake and alive than he ever had. Staring at the extremely dangerous beast, he felt a kind of… excitement bubble up in his chest, and he almost wanted to laugh at the sensation.

Almost.

Here he was, about to fight for his life, and he felt a strange kind of glee going into it. A kind of rush surging through him at the prospect of losing his life, knowing he could end here, today. Harry started walking forwards, and he noticed the dragon look at him with some kind of curiosity. He took a deep inhalation, and then clenched every muscle in his body. Instantly, he felt the somewhat familiar energy rush through him, relaxing his tense muscles and making his heart beat faster. When he opened his eyes, they glowed light blue, as did the runes on his arms, and those on his torso faintly glowed through his shirt. Taking one final, deep breath, he took off sprinting right towards the beast in front of him.

Gasps were elicited from the crowd as he ran up to a large boulder, jumped up on it, and using his empowered legs, pushed off. He soared through the air and reared his right hand back to prepare a punch. The dragon saw what was coming a little too late, and Harry's fist crashed down right on top of its snout. A sickening crunch was heard as the dragon's jaw was slammed into the ground with a might force, and the bones in Harry's right hand shattered into a hundred pieces. Harry and the dragon both roared out in pain, but Harry managed to land on his feet and make a landing roll right to the dragon's eggs. He quickly grabbed the golden egg in the centre of the nest with his left hand, and he started running back towards the exit of the arena. He felt the effects of the magic wear off, and the throbbing in his right hand became sharp and burning which spread throughout his arm, until it suddenly became agonising as it reached his chest. He screamed in pain as he tripped right before he reached the exit. He dropped the golden egg and watched it roll through the exit, meaning he only had to get himself across. He started dragging his body forwards with his left hand, moaning and groaning at the pain in his hand and feeling the darkness of unconsciousness creep ever more into his head. He reached out his hand and brought it down on the egg, completing the first task. He saw, through a blurry vision, James come running towards him, everything seeming as if it was in slow motion, and soon a deep, unending darkness of nothingness crept upon him and swept him away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Recovery**

 **November 29** **th** **, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry felt a prickling in his right arm and chest, and suddenly, muffled sounds became clearer and clearer, until he could hear people talk around him.

"What in Merlin's name did you teach him!?" came the voice of McGonagall, clearly very angry.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Minerva," James replied. "Not if he doesn't allow me to."

"Does he truly mean so little to you!? That you would teach him such perilous magic!?"

"It's exactly because he means a lot to me that I taught him. If I hadn't, he would almost certainly have died to that dragon."

"There were people there to keep him safe," came the strict response from a man Harry recognised as Mr Crouch. "He would under no circumstances have died."

"Right, because the ministry is so competent," James mocked. "Your government is a joke, Crouch, as is your safety measures. He would have died, I have no doubt in my mind. What I taught him let him protect himself from certain death."

"Silence!" came a voice Harry hadn't heard before. "This is a _hospital_! Do not raise your voices in here!"

"I'm very sorry, Poppy," Dumbledore said in a lowered voice, "but it is of utmost import that we reach the truth in this matter. Those were ancient magics, James. I've only ever read of such kinds of powers in the battle mages of old. According to legend, Godric Gryffindor was among the last practitioners of such magic. What haven't you told me?"

"I don't have to tell you anything, Albus. Our past aside, I have no loyalty to you. My only loyalty is to Harry, as it always has been and always will be."

"Why do you care so much for the boy?" Dumbledore asked. "He would have been safe with his aunt."

"No, he wouldn't," James said. "They would have tried to beat the magic right out of him. In worst case, he may have developed an obscurus. I'm sure I don't need to remind you how horrifically unstable they are."

Silence reigned in the hospital wing, and Harry saw fit to open his eyes and try lifting his head. His vision was blurry for a few moments, but it soon sharpened and darkened, as his pupils constricted to adjust for the light. He groaned in aches when he tried lifting his body, but he sat up nonetheless. He then noticed his right arm; it was in a sling, and he noticed that the outer layer of the skin was singed off, leaving his arm blackened, and he couldn't move it, or even his fingers.

"Harry!" James exclaimed and rushed over before he knelt in front of the boy and looked into his eyes, concern and worry etched into the faint wrinkles of his face. He took Harry's face with his hands and gently caressed the boy's cheek. "You alright!?"

"I'm fine, James," Harry muttered with a slight smile and a wince. "Thanks, for everything. I'd have died without you."

James smirked, relieved at the boy's apparent recovery, and pulled his charge into a light embrace. Harry returned it with a smile on his lips and closed eyes, relishing in being held like he was when he was only barely on his feet and walking.

"Always, kid," James whispered. "Always."

He then let go and took Harry's left arm to help him on his feet. Harry winced as he got up, but getting to his feet and beginning to stretch his limbs relieved the slight pain and heavy aches. He then looked over the dark appendage.

"Will I be alright?" Harry asked James, though there was no fear in his voice or face. Only determination and resignation.

"Your arm's paralysed, and will remain so for a while," James said. "The magic burnt clear through the outer two layers of your skin when you struck the dragon. You also practically pulverised the bones in your arm. I have a remedy that will revive the burnt skin and emphasise the healing of your shredded muscles and joints."

"Is there anything else with me?"

"No," James shook his head. "The entirety of the injury was contained to your arm, which is lucky. If it had reached your heart or lungs, you'd have been dead."

Harry nodded and gently touched his arm, finding it slightly strange that he couldn't feel a single of his touches, even when he started squeezing. As he was silently musing over the oddity of not being able to feel his arm at all, except that he could feel it was there, he was broken out of his reverie by the voice of McGonagall.

"Hm, hmm," she cleared her throat. "Mr Potter, I demand to know what kind of magic you used in the first task."

"Okay," Harry said without hesitation, his eyes never leaving his arm lying limply in the sling.

Silence reigned for seconds as McGonagall awaited the explanation she had just demanded.

"So?"

"So, what?" Harry asked.

"What kind of magic did you use?"

"I don't feel like telling," Harry said and slowly stood up all the way from his bed.

"But you just said you would," McGonagall looked confused.

"No, I said 'Okay' at your demand. Never said anything about complying," Harry smirked. "Semantics, Professor. Never underestimate a cleverly–worded sentence, or even a single, clever word. Any written contract is utterly dependant on how it is worded."

"Harry, please tell us what kind of magic you used," Dumbledore said calmly. "We only want to help you."

"If you want to help me, then destroy the Goblet of Fire and release my contract with it," Harry said and looked at them. "That's the only help you can offer me. For any other help, I have only James and myself."

Harry then started towards his clothes, neatly bundled up and washed, on a table close by. He grabbed them, slipped on his shoes, and then started towards the door to the hospital wing.

"Where do you think you're going!?" called the nurse.

"My room," Harry called back. "There's too many people in here. James," he looked at his adopted father, "I'll rest for a few days. Come back this time next week, and I'll be ready for more lessons."

James nodded wordlessly as Harry left the hospital wing. Dumbledore turned to look at the younger–looking man with a disappointed glance.

"I can't allow you to keep teaching him dark arts, James," the old wizard said. "I will not let Lily and James' son become another dark lord."

"There's no such thing as light or dark magic, Albus my boy," James said with a frown. "Only power, and the intent that guides it."

"Don't be ridiculous, James," Dumbledore said angrily, something that very rarely happened with the elderly man. "The boy's arm is useless! You said it yourself, it could have killed him! How can such a magic be anything other than dark!?"

"It's a sacrifice," James said and headed towards the doors as well. "Sometimes, you have to push your body beyond it's limits, and this magic is intense. I would never have taught Harry if I wasn't sure he was already a battlemage."

"A–!" Dumbledore choked in his own words. "A _**battlemage**_!?"

"What is a battlemage, Albus?" McGonagall asked with concern.

"A special type of sorcerer," James answered for the old man. "We aren't very good at theoretical magic. Rather, we rely on instinct and intuition to learn and use magic. We are also far better at concentration–based, non–verbal, and wandless magic."

"We?" McGonagall asked.

"You think I could have taught Harry something I didn't understand myself?" James asked. "Harry and I are the same, which makes a fair bit of sense; we were both introduced to magic later in our lives, we were both resourceful and instinctual boys, and we share the same blood."

"You're related?" Albus asked with a raised brow.

"Distantly," James nodded. "But more than that, we both trust our instincts more than we trust our senses."

"What do you mean?" Snape asked with slight disgust mixed with confusion.

"Harry understands very well that the senses can be fooled, simply by virtue of the human brain," James said. "There is far too much information in the world for the brain to process it all, so it filters out all irrelevant information. Muggle magicians take advantage of this particular weakness in the human brain to trick people. Rather than trusting his senses without question, he lets his instincts decide what to do with the information his senses receive. If his gut tells him not to trust someone, he will never trust them. If he feels like he should get away from his position, he will move immediately. It's saved his life on more than one occasion."

"What are you talking about?" Dumbledore asked.

"There are some sick people in the world, and then there are the pathetic ones. The former will kill people for their own pleasure. The latter will kill someone of incredibly high profile just to become famous. Several such people have tried to kill Harry in the past. I don't know how, but he seems to have some kind of sixth sense that alerts him to danger. He's dodged bullets and repelled knife–attackers before his conscious mind can comprehend what is going on, simply because he feels safe with leaving his life and personal safety to his instincts."

"And you still say he wouldn't have been safer with his aunt?" Dumbledore said.

"I do," James nodded. "I always will. Because he has myself and his adopted mother to help him."

With that, James opened the door and left the infirmary as well.

•••

Harry walked through the castle slowly, his arm in sling sending small shocks of pain throughout his torso and head with every step taken, making him wince. It took him almost half an hour to reach the Great Hall, and as he entered, faces everywhere were turned to look at him with mixed emotions; envy, awe, anger, and an assortment of other feelings. He slowly trudged towards the Slytherin table and sat down at the end of it, gently moving into position all the while hissing at the burning sensation in his injured arm. He then slowly went about eating breakfast, as troublesome as it was with a single arm, but he managed. As he took a swig of pumpkin juice, Blaise, Tracey and Daphne sat down around him like they usually did.

"You alright?" Blaise asked with as little concern as he usually held.

"If I'm lucky, I'll make a full recovery," Harry muttered and nodded. "If not, I may never be able to use my arm normally again. At least I didn't become roast long pig at the breath of that dragon."

"Long pig?" Daphne asked with raised brows.

"Human," Harry muttered, "old American South term."

"If you were half as good at magic as I suspect you're clever, I don't think you'd've had any trouble with that dragon," Tracey mused with a crooked smile.

"Unfortunate that I couldn't bore it to sleep with a biology lecture," Harry chuckled, only to wince as his right arm was shook by the motion.

The three other Slytherin looked between each other, nodded quietly, and then Blaise turned to look at him.

"We've been talking while you were in the infirmary," he started out. "If you'll have us, we'd like to become part of your crew."

"My 'crew'?" Harry asked.

"We know you're looking to become a businessman and politician," Tracey said, "my mother's been keeping track of you in the Muggle news. I'm half–blood, remember?" she added at Harry's surprised look.

"So… what?" he asked.

"We want to be part of your firm in the Wizarding world," Daphne said. "We don't think you'd pass up on the opportunity to expand there, so we, having all been raised in this world, are better suited to help you with that than anyone else. If you'll employ us, of course."

Harry looked at Blaise, who nodded silently. He then looked around at them, a little surprised, but he couldn't help the slight burning sensation in his chest and the small smirk that appeared on his lips.

"Well… alright, I guess," he said, smirk widening a little. "So, what'd you all think you can contribute with?"

"An apothecary," Daphne said immediately. "I love potions, and I like herbology. I could take care of those kinds of things, and it's a somewhat untapped market here in Britain. There are two or three apothecaries here, and that's all people really need. But you're famous all over Wizarding Britain and Europe, so if word comes out that you're starting an apothecary, people'll line up at the front door."

Harry nodded as he went through the idea.

"I like the sound of that," he admitted. "I suppose you could also start growing ingredients somewhere close by, keep our own supply. And then we could import rarer ingredients with specific weather conditions. I like it." He then turned to Tracey.

"Enchanting services," she said. "Some people are willing to pay big money to get all kinds of permanent enchantments on their stuff, or wards around their homes. I'm going to study towards that, and I'm thinking of trying to get work at Gringotts as an apprentice cursebreaker when I'm through Hogwarts."

"Gringotts cursebreakers are offered a lot of jobs when they stop working for the goblins," Daphne said. "Their skills are far above the rest when it comes to wards and enchantments."

"Sounds great," Harry nodded. "We could definitely offer such a service, for the right price. I may even let you peruse my family's private book collection for anything related to that."

Tracey's eyes gleamed with a burning passion as he said that, even as the only facial clue was a slight twitch of the corner of her mouth. Harry then turned to Blaise.

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "I was thinking of taking Wizarding law when I'm through Hogwarts to become a… what'd you call them? Lawyers?" Harry nodded. "Well, that's what I'm thinking of right now. I'm still being tutored in economics at home in the holidays, though, so I could help on that front."

Harry nodded and looked around at them.

"Then welcome to The Potter Group," he said with a smile. "As unpaid interns… for now. I'd shake your hands, but…" he gestured at the blackened and limp arm.

The three of them looked at each other with small smiles, and then smiled at Harry, who was surprised at seeing Daphne smile. Then again, he had just promised that they would all have jobs right out of school. It was a smart move to get into his good graces and secure a future before they had even gotten halfway through their formal education, and they had each thought of a way that they could contribute to The Potter Group's Wizarding Branch. Harry reminded himself to make sure to find out where he had to register a firm in the Wizarding community.

"How about…" Harry said thoughtfully, pausing to think things through. "Tomorrow at noon, we meet in my room and begin brainstorming. I haven't expanded yet, and I don't know where to begin right now. You all in?"

They all nodded.

"Alright," Harry said. "Noon tomorrow, my room. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go take a shower, and then I want to go to bed."

He stood up and waved slightly at them as he retreated from the Great Hall. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Things were going better than he could have hoped, all things considered.

•••

 **December 4** **th** **, 1994**

 **Diagon Alley, London**

Harry, dressed in a casual, black suit and his arm still in a sling, moved through the street beside James, and Daphne, Tracey and Blaise trailing behind them. They were all headed for the great marble building at the end of the street, going to attend business with the great goblin–run bank. Harry's right hand, while still dark, had regained some colour and life. It was almost a dark brown, and he could twitch his fingers with some amount of pain, but it was becoming better by the day. James' old Norse medicines and pastes were doing wonders to alleviate the otherwise burning sensations, though.

The group walked through the great hall with all the tellers, which was rather empty that morning. They were headed straight for the head goblin, and Harry stepped up to the teller's stand.

"Ah, Mr Potter," the goblin said. "It is good to see you in fair health. We of course read about your performance in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Let me congratulate you on your survival. It seems you took our favourite approach; brute force and deadly intent. We honour your valour, Mr Potter," the goblin nodded his head.

"Thank you very much, Karsh," Harry said and nodded his own head. "You do me honour with your words. I would like to see Griphook about the Potter family assets, as well as see the manager of the Peverell assets."

"The Peverell family assets were locked down many centuries ago, Mr Potter," Karsh said with confusion. "It wasn't active until right before they married into the Gaunt family."

"I have some claims to make regarding the Peverell assets," Harry said. "I would like to make a blood test for Lordship of the Peverell family," he glanced at Daphne, who nodded that he had gotten it right.

"Hmm, I see," Karsh nodded. "You believe that a Peverell married into the Potter line?"

"I do," Harry nodded. "I have a strong suspicion that a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, Iolanthe, married Hardwin Potter in the early 13th century. Seeing as the Gaunts are alive, but _inactive_ ," Daphne nodded again, "I would like to make claim to the Peverell Lordship through Iolanthe."

"I will find the paperwork, Mr Potter," Karsh nodded. "Griphook!"

It wasn't long until the Potter family's manager came waddling around the teller stand and approached Harry and the others.

"Right this way, Mr Potter," Griphook said and gestured down a corridor.

Harry nodded at the others, and they all followed he and Griphook down a hallway and into a room with a rather long desk and many chairs. As everyone was inside, Griphook waved his hand, and the blinders rolled down over the window in the door, and the air seemed to… shift inside the room. Harry looked around, not sure what was happening.

"Privacy wards," Daphne muttered in his ear, as she sat to his left and James to his right. "No one can eavesdrop on us."

"Indeed," Griphook nodded. "Now, we have tested the blood you gave Mr Evans to take to us, and we have found a few… interesting things, to say the least."

"Please do tell," Harry said and instantly took on a more serious countenance. He was completely focused, and James was a little proud inside as he looked at his foster son.

"Well, for one, it would seem that you aren't fully human anymore," Griphook stated, making all the Slytherins (besides Harry) instantly turn and look at him, Tracey and Blaise leaning a little over the table to see, as Tracey sat next to Daphne, and Blaise next to James. "There are some traces of… _alien_ blood in your own blood, and as such, you cannot be categorised as human."

"So… what does that mean?" Harry asked.

"It means that you don't have to abide all the laws of humans in our society," Daphne muttered. "For example, you can't be considered a minor. You're effectively emancipated and legally an adult, so to speak."

"Exactly," Griphook said, "which also means that we are obligated to turn access to all the Potter family's assets over to you immediately. Henceforth," Griphook said with a slightly wicked grin, "you are Lord Harry James Potter, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter."

A slight, blueish–green glow emanated from Harry for a second before it receded again.

"You have all the rights that such a position entails to you, as well as the right to perform magic outside of school, to take an apparition licence, and to own property and businesses. But, there were also other things we discovered when we tested your blood. You are the great–grandson of Dorea Potter, whose maiden name is Black." All the Slytherins (once again except for Harry) practically gasped. "Being the last alive, free, and adult member of the family, you are also now Lord Harry James Black Potter, Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

 _House of Black? Hmm… where've I heard that before?_

"Wait, 'free'?" Harry asked.

"Sirius Black is a convicted criminal," Daphne said. "He was imprisoned in Azkaban right after the Incident of Godric's Hollow because he murdered thirteen Muggles and a wizard in cold blood with a single spell."

"Really?" Harry asked with raised brows.

"Really," Blaise nodded in agreement. "According to rumour, he was a friend of your parents, too."

Harry sat back in his chair, his mind wandering. It didn't wander far, as he momentarily sat upright once more.

"Alright," he said. "Any more surprises from my blood test?"

"Well, we found a smattering of bonds to other families, but they are nothing to be concerned about," Griphook. "You don't have any more Lordships, at least until–"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a goblin poked his head inside.

"I have the test for the Peverell Lordship, Master Griphook," the other goblin said.

"Bring it inside," Griphook said.

The goblin entered with a piece of parchment, as well as a closed file, in his hands, and placed both in front of Griphook. He then swiftly left the room again. Griphook looked at Harry intensely.

"The test for your claim to the Peverell Lordship," he said as he placed his right hand on the single piece of parchment. "Everything we have about the Peverells; bank statements, accounts, assets, everything," he said as he placed his left hand on the file, which was two, maybe three inches thick. Griphook slid the parchment over the table towards Harry. "Bleed a few drops onto the parchment, and we will see."

Harry nodded and looked at James. James reached inside his jacket and retrieved a small, fairly–decorated knife. A ceremonial blade for this explicit purpose. Otherwise, blades and other weapons except for wands weren't allowed in the bank. The blade was no longer than three inches, making it a pretty inefficient weapon, in any case. Harry held his hand, thumb extended, over the parchment, and James pricked the tip of the blade as gently as possible into the end of his thumb. Harry didn't flinch as the blade pierced his skin and drew blood, and he merely smeared the thumb on the parchment. James quickly replaced the knife with his wand, pointed it at Harry's thumb, and the wound closed immediately.

Harry watched in fascination as the blood on the page shifted around and rearranged itself, until it formed the triangle, circle, and line Harry had seen as being the symbol for the deathly hallows in the book he had found in the library about wizard genealogy. It then faintly glowed purple, as did he himself like before, until the lights faded, as did the blood on the parchment.

"Congratulations, Lord Peverell Black Potter," Griphook said with a slightly wicked grin. "You are the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, and the Ancient and Noble House of Potter."

Harry couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face as he looked at James, who grinned back at him.

"Quite a mouthful," James said. "I think I'll just stick to Harry."

"I'd prefer it," Harry agreed.

Griphook then pushed the file over the table as well, and grabbed the parchment. Harry wasted no time in opening the file and skimming over a few pages.

"There is also the matter of your rings," Griphook said.

Harry looked up with a frown, and looked at his left hand, which was bare.

"Your Lordship rings," Daphne said.

"Indeed," Griphook said. "We have the rings for the Potter, Peverell, and Black families, but since you are the Lord of all these Houses, you could have them all melted down and forged into a single ring."

Harry nodded and mulled it over.

"I would like the rings of Peverell and Potter combined," Harry said after a few moments of silence. "Leave the Black ring as it is."

"I will," Griphook said. "Any preferences as to design?"

"Preferably silver in colour, with a ruby gem set between two engraved 'P's, if it's possible," Harry said. "And, if it isn't _too_ much trouble, I would like the Peverell family symbol etched in the ruby. And, don't make it a big, clunky ring. Sleek, elegant, with only those few details. A separate signet ring of two 'P's on either side of the line of the centre of the Peverell family symbol, one of them flipped horizontally, would be appreciated, though."

"Hmm, a man of refined taste," Griphook mused. "Very well, I shall have the rings in a week."

Harry nodded in appreciation and looked back down at the papers in his hands.

"I'd expected something, but not this much," Harry commented. He then looked up at Griphook. "I would like to register a firm, as well as open a company account."

"Very well, Mr Potter," Griphook said, and Harry internally sighed in relief when the goblin stuck to the simple 'Potter'. "What is the name of this firm?"

"The Potter Group," Harry said. "It already exists in the Muggle world, if you want to look it up."

"I just might," Griphook said with a nod as he took some notes on a small notepad he produced from his pocket. "It serves us well to know about all of our clients' endeavours. Is it stationed in London?"

"It is," Harry nodded. "I will bring you copies of all my paperwork for it so you have a better grasp on it. Also, if I am at Hogwarts and unavailable, I would like you to defer to James," he gestured to the man to his right, "as my proxy. I trust him completely with everything, and I want him to take over all my things, accounts, and properties in the event of an untimely death of mine."

"I shall make it happen," Griphook said. "Do you wish to visit any of your vaults while you're here?"

Harry pondered for a moment, before he shook his head.

"No, but I would appreciate it if you would take the time to dig up any books in any of them about potions, plants, magical creatures, enchantment, and wards of all types, pack them into a mokeskin pouch, and send it to Hogwarts," Harry said, drawing gleaming and awestruck stares from the two girls to his left. "I will pay you a handsome fee for it. Any one thing of any value in the Potter vault that isn't a book or a specially enchanted item, nor created by a Potter or could be considered a Potter heirloom, is yours to take, or… 500 galleons or so, if you prefer? Oh, and please close my trust fund and transfer it's contents to the Potter Family Vault, for a fee of 2% of the contents for the bank and a 2% fee for yourself, please."

There was a short moment of surprise in Griphook's eyes, until he smiled widely, showing very sharp and jagged teeth.

"You are most generous, Mr Potter. I shall find every single tome of your description and send it to you, as well as transfer the contents of and close your trust fund, as per your request. I believe we will have a golden partnership in the future, Mr Potter. May your gold never stop flowing."

"May your gold never stop flowing," Harry repeated as he stood from his chair and extended his left hand. "I would shake your hand properly, but my right hand is somewhat out of commission for a while," he said with a smirk.

Griphook looked at his hand for a little, and then smiled and shook it respectfully.

"By your next visit, I will have compiled all your statements and information for your convenient reading."

"Thank you."

The group then exited the meeting room, Griphook heading one way, towards his office, and Harry and his posse retreating towards the exit of the bank.

"James, can you take the others back to Hogsmeade, and then come back to take me to the Ministry?" Harry asked as they all exited the building. "I should like to meet this Sirius Black."

"I'll be back momentarily," James said and held out his hands for Blaise and Daphne. Tracey grabbed Daphne's other hand, and the four disappeared instantly.

"Well, now I can learn to do that," Harry mused, excited at the prospect of being able to expand, and being allowed to do as he pleased, within the laws for adults.

Harry took a deep breath of the fresh, cool December air. It felt liberating to him, to have just become emancipated, as well as the Lord of three ancient and noble Houses. He looked down at his left hand, imagining the rings he had described resting on them. He felt excitement bubble up inside of him, and he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his chest. He waited there for a few more minutes, until James returned, appearing with an almost inaudible 'plop'. Harry then grabbed James' arm, and the two of them disappeared as well.

•••

Harry and James stepped off the platform inside a red telephone box, having descended from a street in Muggle London. Harry and James both wore visitor's tags, identifying them. The pair walked through a check where their wands were examined by a highly unenthusiastic wizard who seemed like he regretted most of his life–choices. They then proceeded through a large atrium milling with people, disappearing and appearing in fireplaces with bright, green flames, slightly startling Harry when he first saw it. They then reached some lifts, and stepped inside one. James pressed the button labelled '1'. It then immediately started moving downwards, until it reached the floor.

"Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff," a female voice rang out in the lift as the doors opened and Harry and James stepped off.

It wasn't a long walk until the both of them reached a door with a plaque on it, reading 'Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge'. Harry then knocked on the door twice, and waited. Some rustling was heard inside, and after a few moments, the door opened to reveal Fudge.

"Mr Potter!" he exclaimed and smiled. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Yes, well, I was in London attending my business, and decided to take up your offer of a visit," Harry smiled politely. "May I come in?"

"Of course, of course!" Fudge said and stepped aside, holding the door for Harry and his adopted father. "And you are?"

"Harry's adopted father, James Evans," James said and shook the Minister's offered hand. "I'm an auror in the MACUSA."

"Ah, an auror! Pleasure to meet you!"

Harry and James each took a seat in front of the Minister's desk, as the Minister himself moved around and sat in his own.

"So, what can I do for you, Mr Potter?" Fudge asked. "Forgive me, but I don't take you for the type to drop by for chinwag."

"You're right on that account," Harry said with a small smile. "I am here regarding the prisoner Sirius Black. I would like to meet him."

Fudge's smile immediately fell.

"W–wha–why would you want to meet him?"

Harry didn't fail to notice the painfully obvious nervousness that the Minister displayed at the mention of Sirius Black.

"You see, I have been informed of his situation; killing thirteen muggles and a wizard with a single spell," Harry said. "I've never met a killer in person before, and I would like to have the chance. It is so rare for one in my position to receive such a learning experience."

Fudge looked perplexed.

"L–learning?"

"Yes, Minister, learning!" Harry exclaimed with a smile. "You see, I very much enjoy the field of psychology. It is the Muggle field of study pertaining to how the human mind works, what makes a person different. How childhood trauma can affect the person later in life, and so many other things. But, I have never had the chance to study a _murderer_ up close," Harry leaned forward a little. "I would consider it a great service to the House of Potter if you would allow me to meet with him, sit down for a talk, and allow me to study him. I must admit, I am quite the sucker for learning, and this is just too rare and exquisite an opportunity to do so. Rare is the killer that is willing to sit down with a psychologist and allow themselves to be analysed by someone whose very passion it is to figure out how such minds work; what makes them capable of killing? How do they avoid guilt and remorse? Is it some inborn, inherent trait? Or can it be taught, trained, indoctrinated?"

Fudge visibly relaxed as Harry's explanation went on. He had done some reading of Harry James Potter, and understood well what the boy referred to; apparently, taking tests in private with a special examiner, Harry had taken many of the standardised tests that allowed Muggle children to graduate from mandatory education, and had almost entirely perfect marks in all of them. He had then gone on to earn a few diplomas after doing the same with different universities in the United Kingdom: A degree in psychology, economics, biology, history, and English literature. The boy was, by all standards, a genial scholar with a keen, strong mind and an aptitude for learning.

Fudge smiled at the boy.

"I am certain I can arrange a meeting in the cells down in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Fudge said. "There will, of course, be aurors present to ensure your safety, and you may bring Mr Evans along as private security as well. It may take a few days, but I will send you an owl once I make the agreements."

Harry smiled brightly and extended his left hand, which Fudge shook excitedly.

"Thank you _so_ much, Minister!" Harry exclaimed joyfully. "This is truly a once–in–a–lifetime experience for me! I shall not forget this favour any time soon!"

"Of course, m'boy, of course!"

Harry then looked at James, and nodded. The pair then stood up.

"If you ever need a favour, just send me an owl," Harry said with a slight bow. "It shall be my honour to lend you my help."

"Thank you, Mr Potter!" Fudge exclaimed as well. "Now, I hate to ruin the mood, but I really must get back to these documents," he gestured at the papers on the desk in front of him. "Sadly, there is much paperwork when one is in charge of the nation's stability. Have a most pleasant evening."

"You as well, Minister," Harry nodded.

The two visitors then left the room and headed down the corridor, walking back towards the lift.

"What a kiss–ass," Harry muttered and looked around, making sure no one was listening.

"You seemed to get along nicely, though," James said with a smirk.

"You just have to replicate your mark's mood," Harry shrugged. "They are often more amiable to you that way. If they're happy, be happy. If they're excited, be excited."

"Meerlinda teach you that?"

"Mhmm," Harry nodded. "Fudge is the kind of man who will do anything to impress the few who can be of aid to him later. The instant I mentioned 'a service to the House of Potter', he looked like a child on Christmas Morning."

"And the part about studying Black?"

"Fiction," Harry shrugged. "I already have sat down with murderers before."

"Then why?"

"I want you to set up a truth–spell in the room we'll meet him in," Harry explained. "I want to know if he really did kill all those people."

"But he's convicted, Harry," James said with confusion. "He did it, there was an investigation, everything."

"But did he ever receive a trial?" Harry asked.

"Of course he di–" James stopped mid–sentence, and then stopped walking, looking at Harry. "What're you suggesting?"

"I've been doing some reading ever since I came to Hogwarts," Harry said and stuffed his left hand in his pocket, still looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "In the war against Voldemort, aurors were being approved to use deadly force against his followers and soldiers, called _Death Eaters_. However, once he disappeared after trying to kill me, Death Eaters were pleading innocence by the dozens, claiming they were under an In–Imp–Inp–"

"Imperius Curse?"

"That one," Harry nodded. "A lot were still thrown in prison, but there were a few people who were acquitted through that flimsy defence. Guess who was the most prominent of those?"

James stared into the ground for a few seconds.

"Lucius Malfoy?"

"Exactly," Harry confirmed. "Now, _during_ the war, people were being arrested in such numbers, there wasn't _time_ to give everyone a trial, and that continued for almost a year after **his** downfall. What'll you bet are the chances that Sirius Black was never given a trial, seeing as he was captured only a month after my parent's deaths? According to eyewitnesses, another friend of theirs, a 'Peter Petty–something', accused Sirius of betraying them to Voldemort, right before Sirius blew them all up. Now, if Sirius Black _did_ kill every Muggle in the vicinity… how were there any eyewitnesses?"

James' brows shot upwards, and his mouth twisted in though, until his face finally settled on an accepting expression.

"Furthermore, according to the old newspaper I found in looking into my parents' murder, Sirius used an overpowered Blasting Hex on a gas pipeline, causing the whole street to blow up. But the gas running through those pipelines is flammable, not explosive. And a Blasting Hex doesn't create flames or sparks; it's a highly concentrated pulse of energy, which explodes right after it instantly implodes."

James nodded, his face settling back into a focused expression.

"And lastly, the thirteen Muggles could be identified by the fact that they were torn apart and splattered all over the area… yet the only evidence left that Peter was even there was a finger, his ring finger… which was _cleanly_ severed, as though with a blade. Are there any wizards that can turn into animals at will?"

"Yeah, they're called animagi," James nodded. "They have to register with the Ministry. Why'd you ask?"

"What are the odds that Peter is an animagus?" Harry asked and pulled a piece of newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to James. "Furthermore, what are the odds that he's a _rat_?"

James stared at Harry, and then looked at the piece of newspaper, clearly torn from the library at Hogwarts. On the picture was a family, all waving and smiling at the camera. One of them, however, was holding a rat. When James held the paper closer and focused on the rat, he noticed that it was missing a finger on it's front paw… where the human's ring finger would be.

"I am almost absolutely certain that Peter is _that_ rat," Harry pointed at the rat. "He belongs to a boy called Ronald Weasley, and he's at Hogwarts this very moment. Now, I've been mulling this over for a while before the Tournament began, but it was never more than conjecture. Until now, that I have probable cause."

James stared at Harry for a few moments until he spoke again.

"You're going to reopen the case, use your status as Lord Black to represent him as a defence attorney, and then clear his name, aren't you?"

…

"Yes."

Sigh.

"I'll come meet you at Hogwarts in the morning."


	7. Chapter 7

**Going To Court**

 **December 9th, 1994**

 **Ministry of Magic, London**

Harry walked down the corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, James walking right behind him to his right. It made Harry cut a more impressive figure, the veteran, battle–hardened auror walking behind him like a bodyguard. Harry himself wore a neutral expression and wore an all–black, three–piece Armani suit, his silk tie a deep, blood–red. The thing really selling his appearance was the black coat that he wore on his shoulders. The only thing messing it up was the sling he still wore for his right arm, which was slightly covered by the coat, though. His hands had regained a fair bit of movement and colour, now looking only like a bad sunburn instead of charcoal. The small, constant aches and pangs of burning pain occurred with less frequency and were far less intense, but his arm was still numbed with herbal medicine, else it would bar him from focusing on anything.

The reached the door where five aurors stood outside and waited, one of them looking especially sour. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, whereupon there were pictures of the aurors' faces, as well as their names and specialties, information which Harry had requested from the Minister, claiming he didn't know if he could trust them, given previous attempts at his life in the past. Fudge had only been too happy to comply.

"Aurors Shacklebolt, Tonks, Savage, Proudfoot, and Dawlish," Harry said as he approached them. "Thank you for doing this. This is James Evans, Senior Auror in MACUSA and my adoptive father," Harry gestured to James with his healthy hand. "I consider your doing of this a favour for the House of Potter."

"How'd you managed to fool the Minister into this?" the auror called Dawlish asked, clearly irritated. "You're just a kid."

"Dawlish," Kingsley Shacklebolt said with a warning tone.

"No, Auror Shacklebolt, it's quite alright," Harry said with a smile. "It's just a simple question. No harm in that." Harry then turned to Dawlish. "I assure you, Auror Dawlish, that I did not _fool_ the Minister into doing this for me; I asked, and he agreed. Simplicity itself. Or do you have problems with higher mental faculties?"

The only one from whom a strangled chortle escaped was the woman called Nymphadora Tonks, whose hair had gone from outrageously pink to a mirthful turquoise as she registered the hint. While no one else _audibly_ laughed, even Shacklebolt couldn't keep a small grin of amusement off his face.

"Fackl–what?"

"Well, guess that answers that," Harry muttered at James, who snorted very quietly. "Anyway, is the prisoner inside?"

"He is," Kingsley's deep, throaty voice said with a respectful nod. "You may enter when you wish, Mr Potter, though I would suggest bringing an auror inside with you."

Harry looked at all the aurors, and then at James, until he turned back to Shacklebolt.

"Would you then accompany me, Auror Shacklebolt? Good faith and all that?"

"It would be my pleasure," Kingsley nodded and opened the door for Harry. "After you, Mr Potter."

"Thank you," Harry said and entered.

Shacklebolt entered after Harry, and Harry immediately noticed the way the cell was designed. The door was wooden on the outside, for aesthetics. Inside, it was made of steel, and the walls weren't wood and plaster, but solid concrete. There was a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, under which was a table with a chair on opposite sides. In the chair furthest from the door sat a man with long, black, shaggy hair and gaunt skin, seemingly having starved for months. He refused to look up as the door opened, and he was trembling every so lightly, but constantly. Shacklebolt wordlessly moved into the corner beside the door, standing as a silent guardian. Harry reached inside his jacket and pulled out his mokeskin pouch which he placed on the table, a good distance away so that Black couldn't reach it without trying to get up. Harry then reached inside and pulled out a filled plastic water bottle and unscrewed the cap. He placed the opened bottle in front of the man.

"Drink," Harry ordered.

Black's trembling hands reached up and slowly, cautiously pulled the water bottle closer to his face. He sniffed the top, likely smelling after poison or potions. He didn't seem to suspect anything as he took a desperate swig, and had downed the bottle in less that twenty seconds. His long, greasy, black bangs obscures his eyes, and likely also kept him from seeing much.

"They don't give you much water in Azkaban?" Harry asked as he pulled out another bottle and unscrewed it before placing it in front of the man, who immediately downed it, too.

Black remained quiet, likely refusing to cooperate with any ministry man. But Harry noticed that he seemed to have some training with interrogations: Play up all injuries and weaknesses, never make eye contact, take anything you're given as long as you make sure it isn't poisoned, and for everything good in Heaven, _don't talk_.

 _Standard special forces capture procedure. Probably learn it as an auror, too._

Harry then reached into the pouch and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in paper and laid it in front of Black, who immediately took it and began wolfing it down, never looking up at Harry. Harry then turned to Shacklebolt.

"I know prisons are meant to punish the inmates, but this is ridiculously inhumane," Harry said. "Who decides how much they get?"

"I'm not sure," Shacklebolt admitted. "But if you think the feeding is an issue, you would not like the things that guard the prison."

Harry raised a brow, but returned to look at Sirius. He would take it up another time.

"I'm here to ask you some questions, and I expect your cooperation, or you will be sent directly back to Azkaban. Do you understand what I am saying, yes or no?"

For a little while, Black stopped eating, seeming to think for a second, and then nodded slightly.

"Good, then let's begin," Harry said and sat down on the chair. "Your name is Sirius Orion Black, and your parents are Orion and Walburga Black, yes or no?"

Black nodded slightly as he chewed the sandwich eagerly.

"You were born November 3rd, 1959, correct?"

Nod.

"You attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1971 to 1978."

Nod.

"Here comes the kicker: Do you want to have your name cleared of all charges?"

Black froze in his seat, not even chewing the bite he had just taken. He sat quiet like that for almost a full minute, during which Harry simply sat back and observed him. He then nodded.

"Good. Then I, Harry James Potter," the name made Black shake his head and look up at Harry through the bangs in front of his eyes with surprise and shock, "acting as Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black," Black's eyes widened even further, "do declare you a legitimate member of the House of Black, and do swear upon my honour and magic to represent you in a court of law with the aim to get you acquitted. As I have sworn, so mote it be."

A small glimmer of silver faintly glowed around Harry, but faded very quickly again.

"Auror Shacklebolt, would you be so kind as to fetch the Minister for me?" Harry turned and addressed the Auror, whose eyes were wide as saucers and on high alert. "I would like him in this room as soon as possible. And don't send another auror in, please. Attorney–Client confidentiality."

Shacklebolt stared at Harry for a while, but then nodded and stepped out of the door. Harry then turned back to look at the man in front of him.

"We have until the Minister gets here to walk through everything that is required to get you acquitted," Harry said, "we can introduce each other later. For now, I'm going to clear your name."

Sirius stared at Harry with eyes suddenly filled with tears, and glimmering with hope, but he swallowed and then nodded.

"Okay," he said with an incredibly hoarse voice.

"Good," Harry said. "First, I apologise, but I dosed your water with Veritaserum, and I intend on letting Shacklebolt test it. I need you unable to lie for a little bit, but I'll stop you if you're about to say something too embarrassing, alright?"

Sirius nodded, now having lost every shred of insecurity and focusing on Harry.

"Good. I know it loses it's potential effect when you know, so just don't resist it. Let's start with a simple question; did you receive a trial?"

"No," Black said.

"Did you murder thirteen muggles and one wizard in cold blood?"

"No."

"Did you murder Peter Pettigrew?"

"No."

"Did you betray my parents to Voldemort?"

"No."

Harry leant back in the chair and smirked.

"And just like that," he blew on his hand and spread his finger, as to mime 'nothing', "all charges are gone. Well, provided my experience in Muggle court will hold up in Wizarding court," he shrugged. "How are you, Sirius?"

Sirius stared at Harry and took some deep breaths.

"I'm awful, Harry," he said, sounding like he was tired of life. "I'm so sorry about Lily and James. They were my best friends."

"I know," Harry nodded. "But it wasn't your fault, you just admitted to that. I blame Pettigrew, and so should you."

"Oh, I do," Sirius said. "I really, _really_ do."

"Good. Then use that as motivation to get through this," Harry said. "I'll get some aurors to come help me catch Pettigrew at Hogwarts, because it'll need some planning. I've no doubt they want to just walk in there, and then Pettigrew escapes because he's a rat, and we'll be back to square one."

Sirius nodded, though Harry caught the glimpse of a fiery rage at the mention of Pettigrew. Harry then reached into his mokeskin pouch and pulled out another sandwich and placed it in front of Sirius who quickly unwrapped it and started chewing on it like a starving dog.

"When we're through here, I'll take you to my apartment, and then we'll go out and buy you some clothes, as well as a suit for your trial," Harry said.

"What makes you think they'll let me leave?" Sirius asked.

Harry smirked devilishly.

"Oh, I have my ways, don't you worry."

Sirius looked a little concerned at that.

"What House did you get sorted into?" the older man asked cautiously.

"Slytherin," Harry said nonchalantly. "Though, I honestly think that judging others by their Hogwarts House is a poor judgement of character. I assure you, I may be clever and cunning and ambitious, and all that, but I don't see myself as a bad person. I'm not exactly a saint, but then again, who is in this day and age?"

Sirius thought about that for a few moments, and then nodded, unable to counter that logic. He then started wolfing down the sandwich again. He only managed another few bites until the door opened, and Cornelius Fudge, followed by a short, rotund woman dressed in a sickly pink outfit and with a horrible haircut entered the room, followed by Dawlish.

"Ah, Minister, so good of you to join us!" Harry exclaimed and stood up. "Uh, there are some things I would like to discuss with you."

"What is this about reopening his case!?" Fudge exclaimed. "You said you wanted to study him!"

"Ah, yes, well, that was before he confided in me and told me he was innocent of the crimes he was sent to Azkaban for," Harry lied directly to Fudge's face without a shred of dishonesty marring his ruse. "I was also under the assumption I was to study a murderer's mindset, and then he tells me that he's innocent! I was shocked! So, if you don't terribly mind, I would like to take a look at every piece of parchment you have on his trial, and act as a defence attorney for him. If there's anything I can't stand, it's gross misconduct and failure of justice."

"He is a murderer, and guilty of his crimes," Fudge looked like he was seething.

"Well, if you're so certain Minister," Harry lightly placed his left hand on Fudge's right shoulder, "then a test to verify the truth wouldn't hurt, would it? Unless of course, you're _aware_ that he's innocent, in which case… the Prophet might _mysteriously_ discover these facts. Imprisoning an innocent man for crimes he didn't commit…" Harry sucked in air through his teeth with a cringing expression on his face. "What a _scandal_ that might turn out to be. Of course, he _was_ imprisoned _before_ your tenure. If you were to, mayhaps, _discover_ that he never received a trial under Minister Millicent Bagnold… well, let me give you a headline, hmm?"

Harry held his hand out in front of the both of them, as if placing letters in the air.

" _Righteous Minister Absolves Innocent Man of Wrongful Sentence_." He then placed his hand back on Fudge's shoulder and gave the Minister a small smile. "The masses would be roaring in applause."

For a moment, Fudge's eyes glazed over, as if visualising exactly what Harry described for him, and a small twitch at the corner of his mouth told Harry that the score was Potter – 2, Minister – 0. Harry clapped Fudge's shoulder and smiled, pulling the Minister out of his slight reverie.

"We could show up in court tomorrow, and I would be more than happy to be Mr Black's defence. What'd you say, Minister? Ready to _really_ gain the public's favour?"

Harry chanced a glance at Sirius, who merely looked at Harry with shock and surprise in his face, a clear indicator of disbelief. Harry returned his own gaze to Fudge, who nodded.

"Yes, yes… it is clear that Minister Bagnold was ignorant of the massive injustice committed right under her nose." Fudge glanced at Sirius, and then looked at Harry. "I shall make sure that Mr Black receives a fair trial tomorrow. How does noon sound to you?"

"Perfect," Harry smiled widely, but Sirius was the only one who saw satisfaction in it, rather than it being a genuine smile. "Absolutely perfect. Now, I will take Mr Black home with me, shower him, feed him and clothe him, and then tomorrow, we will be here for court. If he tries to run, I will apologise publicly and invest some resources into the manhunt that will be put out on him. But we'd best keep this one off the papers for now, because I am confident that there are some follow–up issues that need to be dealt with as a consequence of this very trial… if you understand my meaning?"

Fudge scrutinised Harry closely for a few moments, before he nodded.

"Yes, I see," he muttered. "Well, clearly you seem to have all this under control. Why don't you then deal with this… situation?"

"Oh, I would love to," Harry said with a smile. "Now, please release the restraints so that I may take Mr Black to my home and make sure he is ready for court tomorrow."

"Dawlish," Fudge immediately turned to the auror. "Release him."

Dawlish looked like he was about to fall into a raging, sputtering mess, but he seemed to possess enough self–control to be able to grudgingly walk over and release the restraints on Sirius' hands and feet, though Harry did notice Sirius flinch as Dawlish momentarily tightened them much more before he released them. Sirius stood from the chair and rubbed his wrists, slightly stumbling from the exertion on his starved muscles.

"Mr Black, if you would please follow me," Harry gestured to the door, and Sirius just nodded and followed.

The pair exited right after the Minister, his aide, and Dawlish, and all of the other aurors except for James looked exceptionally stunned that Sirius was walking out without restraints on. A single glance from Fudge kept them silent, however, and Harry gingerly guided Sirius through the hallways. As they came out of sight of the others, James immediately opened Harry's mokeskin pouch and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, handing it to Sirius.

"I suppose you're familiar with this, given your friendship with my father," Harry said, noticing the nostalgic gleam in Sirius' eyes. "Put it on and keep it on until we reach my apartment. We'll go over everything there."

Sirius nodded and instantly put on the Cloak. He then took hold of Harry's coat, so that Harry knew he was still there. Like that, the trio left the Ministry, and went to work on planning for court the next day.

•••

 **December 10th, 1994**

 **Courtroom Ten, Ministry of Magic**

Harry, wearing a practically identical suit with a pinstriped shirt and dark–blue tie instead, as well as wearing a new, black sling for his arm, walked along the dark, tiled floor of Level Ten of the Ministry of Magic. Next to him walked Sirius, lightly hunched over, freshly bathed, shaven and kempt, as well as wearing a black suit with a black shirt and a black tie.

"If you turn around and squeeze up to the wall, I doubt I'd find you," Harry muttered with a smirk.

Sirius grinned and snorted in amusement at the comment, before he placed a wrinkly, tattooed hand on Harry's upper back.

"I can never thank you enough for this, Harry," Sirius said in a serious tone. "I spent thirteen years in that hell–hole of a prison. When I walk free, I'll always be there for you, like I promised your parents when they named me your godfather."

Harry's brows shot up.

"You're my godfather?"

"I am," Sirius nodded bitterly, "though I curse myself for never being able to actually be one for you. I was too focused on going after Pettigrew to realise that you needed my help."

Harry fell silent as they approached a door at the end of the hallway.

"Well, the past is behind us, and there's nothing we can do to change it," Harry said. "Instead of weeping over what cannot be changed, let's focus on forging the path ahead. You ready?"

Sirius took a deep breath, but then nodded.

"Then let's go," Harry said and opened the door with his left hand.

The two entered a long, tall courtroom with dozens of people wearing different shades of plum sitting in rows near the end, all having a silver 'W' embroidered on their chest. Harry was surprised to see Albus Dumbledore sitting on one of the rows clearly intended for spectators, along with a haggard–looking man that Harry didn't recognise, but he noted Sirius look of hope and joy as he saw the man, who smiled back at him. Harry gestured for Sirius to take the seat in the middle of the room. The court was strangely silent as the interaction happened, and Sirius sat down in the chair where shackles rested near the base.

"I suspect the shackles restrain criminals for interrogation, ensuring that they cannot escape," Harry said aloud, addressing the Ministry officials. "I would appreciate it if you would not restrain my client in such a barbaric manner, thank you."

There were some whispers among the jury, but finally Cornelius Fudge, sitting at the head of the congregation, spoke up.

"Your request is granted. Do not activate the restraints," he said while looking at a wizard sitting near the edge of the gathering.

The man nodded and sheathed his wand back into his jacket.

"Criminal trial of the tenth of December, into offenses committed as a breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, the murder of thirteen muggles, and one wizard, Peter Pettigrew by Sirius Orion Black. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Landon Brightly; Witness for the defence, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Houses of Potter and Black."

Harry noted that most of the members of the Wizengamot broke into furious whispers at that, and the two men sitting in the spectator stands looked incredibly surprised.

"Lord Potter, are you ready to give your opening statement?" Fudge asked politely.

"I am, Minister," Harry said with a nod.

"Then you may proceed."

Harry walked over, a few paces in front of Sirius, and looked at the gathered court.

"Honoured court of the Wizengamot," he began, arm spread out as to gesture towards them, "we are gathered here this day to right a terrible, _terrible_ wrong. Thirteen years ago, around the end of November and beginning of December, this man," he gestured back at Sirius, "Sirius Orion Black, was captured and imprisoned for the murder of thirteen Muggles and one wizard, Peter Pettigrew. Now, I have gone over the entire scenario, and I tell you: There is nothing even remotely right, logical, or sensical about this scenario. Let me explain."

Harry walked over to Sirius and placed his hand on his shoulder as a few murmurs sifted through the crowd.

"Until thirteen years ago, on the night of October 31st, 1981, the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort," there were several gasps in the crowd, somewhat to Harry's amusement, "reigned supreme as the leader of a rebellion, an insurrection. He led hundreds of wizards, witches, and various magical beasts of violent and murderous natures against the esteemed Ministry. It was a time when murder and torture became a common occurrence, and as such, a temporary state of exception was placed on the Ministry's military and law–enforcement forces; lethal action became allowed, and many who were at scenes of crimes and seen committing crimes were thrown in prison to save time. Of course, you all must understand that it was a highly chaotic timeframe and the Ministry was short on appropriate officers to execute every legal right a felon possessed. There is no shame in that, it was an unprecedented occurrence, and so, the Ministry had to adapt to the ever–changing circumstances. It is not at all uncommon in times of war, or civil uprising, as it was in this case. However, what I am trying to impart on you here today is not to take out every prisoner of Azkaban to submit every single one to a formal trial, that would be rather pointless. Rather, I share a certain connection with Mr Black, and approached the Minister in good faith to try and redeem a man I believed innocent.

"Now, regarding the exact circumstances that led to Mr Black's arrest, I will briefly go over the case and explain to you why I, quite frankly, find it bogus, no offense," Harry looked apologetically at the court.

"None taken," Fudge said. "Please continue."

"First, I would like to make a request of the jury," Harry said and stuck his hand in his pocket, from which he drew a small vial. "This is Veritaserum, and as you all undoubtedly know, is a highly potent truth–potion. I would like, with your permission and the consent of Mr Black, to submit him to it's effects."

There were murmurs all throughout the crowd, and Fudge sat and listened to the various people around him. After almost a full minute, the crowd quieted and Fudge turned back to Harry.

"The Wizengamot has decided to allow this controlled use of Veritaserum to extract only the truth from Mr Black. Please proceed."

Harry nodded and turned back to Sirius.

"Sirius Orion Black. Do you consent to submitting yourself to the influence of Veritaserum to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God, or whatever higher power wizards worship?" Harry asked, only to crack up slightly at the end, realising he didn't know if wizards practiced a special religion.

Sirius was amused as well, if the snort was anything to go by.

"I do," Sirius said and took the offered potion before he swallowed it without hesitation.

"Members of the court, let it be known that Sirius Orion Black has completely drunk and swallowed a small vial of Veritaserum," Harry held the empty vial Sirius had handed back up for the court to see. "Now, I will begin with some control questions, to ascertain the level of the potion's effect." He turned to Sirius. "Is your name Sirius Orion Black?"

"Yes," Sirius answered without hesitation.

"Were your parents Orion and Walburga Black?"

"Yes."

"Are you male?"

"Yes."

What colour is your eyes?"

"Grey."

"What is your birthdate?"

"November 3rd, 1959."

"Have you ever considered sexual or romantic relations with a male?"

"Yes!" Sirius exclaimed with a strange expression, until he realised what has happened, and he slapped a hand in front of his mouth, looking incredibly shocked.

Harry hadn't expected the groups of chuckles and amused noises that came from the crowd.

"As you can see, he is well under it's effects," Harry smirked lightly, and then turned back to Sirius. "Sorry about that. Unexpected questions are the most effective."

Sirius glared at Harry for a little, only to then nod in resignation.

"Please strike the final question and answer from the record," Harry looked over at the court scribe.

"Sustained," Fudge said, unable to hide his amused smile.

The court scribe immediately crossed out the lines.

"Now, on to the real questions: Mr Black, did you murder the thirteen Muggles and one wizard, Peter Pettigrew, as the charges against you claim?"

"No," Sirius said, sitting slightly straighter.

"Did you, on the night of the discussed incident, perform magic in front of Muggles, thereby breaching the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?"

"No."

"Do you have a hatred for Muggles, maybe even enough to start hunting them and slaughtering them like cattle for your own amusement?"

"No."

"Were you best friends with Lily and James Potter?"

"Yes."

"And could you ever have even remotely entertained the idea of living if it meant you betrayed them."

"I would rather die a slow and agonising before selling out my friends," Sirius said, his eyes darkening menacingly.

"Yes or no will do for now, Mr Black," Harry said, "though I sympathise with your feelings on the matter."

Sirius took a deep breath.

"No, I could never have betrayed them."

"Good," Harry said and addressed the court once more. "Now that we have established that the accused had no motive and no drive to perform the actions that he allegedly committed, much less actually executed them, let us establish the events of that evening." He turned back to Sirius. "Describe what happened on that night for us, Mr Black."

Sirius swallowed and cleared his throat.

"I, I was looking for W– Pettigrew," he said, his voice as scratchy and rough as it had been the previous day. "I thought– I _knew_ , that he was the one who'd betrayed Lily and… James. I found him… in that alley. And I… I started, shouting. 'How could you', 'they were your friends'…" Sirius' eyes grew distant, clearly reliving the evening in his mind's eye. "He begged me to spare him. Said the 'Dark Lord' was too powerful to resist. I told him any of us would've died to protect him. Turns out, he was too afraid to do the same for us. Then he started shouting, repeated my words back to me. Then he pulled his wand and… the street blew up, a piece of the sidewalk hit me right here," Sirius said and pointed to a scar on his cheek. "When I came to, he was gone, and… his finger was lying there. Bleeding. Cut off. I knew, right then, right there… he'd just betrayed me, too," his voice turned cold and bitter, his face expressing his hatred. "He killed those Muggles to make it look like I had done it all with one spell. Likely to sell the story that I worked for Voldemort. I always knew Pettigrew was clever for someone as bumbling as him, but I never thought he'd be that good… of course, he may've been ordered to do things like that."

Harry placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder, who reached up and took hold of it, his eyes still glazed over with the memories. Harry let go a little while later, and Sirius reluctantly did so as well.

"Esteemed court, you have just witnessed the trauma of a man, not guilty of committing crimes against his friends, but hating himself for letting the guilty party escape," Harry said. "Sirius Black is innocent of those crimes, you heard it from him in person, under Veritaserum. Now, I _implore_ you, _do the right thing_."

With that, Harry bowed a slight bow at the court members, and stepped back to look at Albus and the other man in repeatedly repaired robes. Dumbledore looked very satisfied and proud, and, incredibly amusingly to Harry, gave the boy a thumbs–up. Harry smiled back, unable to contain an amused snort. The other man looked happy, as well, and mouthed 'thank you' at Harry, who nodded in return. Harry then looked up at the large gathering of Wizengamot members. They were all deep in quiet discussion, looking very seriously at each other. It took them almost ten minutes to quiet down once more, and Fudge cleared his throat.

"Members of the Wizengamot," the Minister said aloud, "we will now cast vote for the fate of Sirius Orion Black. All those judging him guilty of his charges, raise your hands."

Only a few people raised their hands, and Harry got a good look at them. Most notably among them, however, he noticed Lucius Malfoy, along with who he could only assume were Crabbe and Goyle Sr. A few others, Harry noted, were Henry Nott, father of Theo from Harry's year and House at Hogwarts, as well as a few others whom he didn't know.

"All those judging him innocent."

Almost the entirety of the remaining Wizengamot members raised their hands.

"Then by verdict of the court of Wizengamot, Sirius Orion Black is hereby cleared of all charges," Fudge exclaimed and slammed a wooden hammer on a small plate.

Harry smiled as he turned to Sirius, who breathed in relief and smiled widely himself as he relaxed into the chair.

"I'm free," he muttered wearily.

"You're free," Harry confirmed. "Which means there's only one thing left to do."

Sirius looked at Harry curiously as the boy walked closer and pulled something out of his pocket.

"I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, relinquish my status, and impart it upon it's rightful owner; Sirius Orion Black," Harry held the Black Lordship Ring out for Sirius to take, and a slight, green glow, emanated from Harry and coalesced around the ring.

Sirius swallowed with some effort, and then took the ring, at which the light left Harry entirely and encased Sirius, and disappeared as he slipped the ring on his left finger.

"Congratulations, Lord Black," Harry smirked. "Now, what'd you say about leaving and finding something to eat, hmm?"

Sirius grinned and nodded. He stood up and walked beside Harry as they headed towards the exit. When they exited the room, they found Albus and the other man standing outside, waiting for them. The haggard man's eyes lit up and he rushed into Sirius' arms, as the two embraced each other tightly.

"It's been too long, Padfoot," the man muttered.

"It has, Moony," Sirius replied. "But now, I'm free, and you're more than welcome to live at Grimmauld Place," he said as he released the man, smiling widely for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Albus stepped over to Harry as the two men, clearly best friends, reacquainted.

"That was a masterful display, Harry," Dumbledore muttered with a smile. "I doubt I could have done that better myself."

"It's my expertise," Harry said with a smile of his own. "I worked a long time to master this craft. Besides, do you think it was easy starting my firm?"

"I'm honestly not sure. I know little of how Muggles deal with such things."

"It was a long, hard, tiresome process," Harry explained. "I might've started my firm when I was twelve, but I began appealing to the House of Commons and the Permission Offices when I was ten, almost eleven. I had to read a lot of books to find the small, tiny loophole to be able to open my firm. They've tried to close it since, making my firm illegal, but for now, it remains open," Harry said. "No one ever expected a ten–year–old to try and open a firm, so they actually looked the other way for the first while. That was until they realised that I _did_ have capital and knowledge, and my firm's popularity skyrocketed from the controversy in the financial and general news outlets."

"But aren't they proud of you, to be such a young Englishman to have begun his own, successful firm?" Dumbledore inquired with a disappointed look.

"Many are," Harry nodded, "but far more are trying to find a way to take advantage of the situation. There are talks about _not_ fixing the loophole I used, but to instead pass a bill that requires such firms to be lead by a person appointed by the House of Lords, until such a time as the minor turns 21," Harry's attitude became more bitter as he went on. "They intend on deposing myself as CEO, and take over everything. They're going to ruin everything I've slaved over, lost countless hours of sleep over, that I've spilt blood, sweat, and tears to build, all so they can satisfy their own greed," Dumbledore noticed Harry's clenched left hand shaking. "They disgust me."

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's uninjured left shoulder, and squeezed lightly.

"It will work itself out," Dumbledore said. "And if they should do something as foolish as that, then you can always take them to court," Dumbledore smirked lightly.

"No, I can't," Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Such a case would have to be resolved internally by the House of Lords, and since I'm _not_ a Lord in the Muggle world, I can't even be in the same building as the meeting they'll hold, much less be _at_ the meeting and let my voice be known; that only happens in the House of Commons. And if it comes to the House of Lords, they will likely make some sort of backroom agreement between themselves to share the profits of my labour, so that they can get everyone on board with taking my firm from me. I am _royally_ fucked in a place that I rather wouldn't be," Harry sighed, and let his hand fall. "But that doesn't matter right now. Now," he raised his voice, drawing the attention of Sirius and the other man, "I'm inviting you all to a small pub I know in the vicinity. They've amazing fish and chips," he said with a small smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

 _I've noticed several lengthy reviews, or rather comments/criticisms, from a reader who uses "Guest", and has their reviews disabled from being reply–able. If they were so inclined, I would be happy to receive advice from them, as they seem to be far more knowledgeable than myself. I will freely admit, I do some research on many of the things, but I will, occasionally and far more often than I'd like, pull things out of my ass, metaphorically speaking._

 _Most notably, in my opinion, he mentioned my fic as being crossed over with World of Darkness, and while HP: TOWS absolutely is, this one is_ _ **not**_ _. This is actually crossed over with a fictional universe that I am making for my own, original novel. And while WoD has certainly been a big inspiration for my own universe, it is not a carbon–copy by any means. So, while some of this may seem like it ties in to the WoD from my other fic, the only_ _ **real**_ _element I have kept is the name "Meerlinda," Harry's adopted mother._

 **Behind The Scenes**

 **December 17th, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry sat by a table in a nearly empty classroom, using his now functional right arm to take notes as James stood by the blackboard and explained quite a bit about battle magic, but had gone on to other subjects, as well.

"… and so, I think starting on alchemy'd be a good thing for you, especially spyragic," James finished, sighed, and looked at his watch. "Well, I think we'll stop for today, and then we'll start with the basics of spyragics tomorrow."

"Alright," Harry muttered as he scribbled down the last of his notes. "And spyragic was plant–based alchemy, in a nutshell?"

"Yeah," James nodded.

Harry scribbled a little more, and then put down his quill and leant back in his chair.

"Thank you for your hard work," Harry breathed out.

"I'm happy to do it," James shook his head lightly. "Brings me back to when you were little. Remember those lectures we'd have?"

"Yeah, where you and Meerlinda would take turns explaining stuff," Harry nodded with a nostalgic smile. "I can't thank either of you enough for everything you've done for me."

"Meerlinda's incapable of having children of her own," James said. "I think she was grateful for the opportunity to raise one herself."

"And what about you?" Harry asked. "It was Meerlinda that housed me, but she told me that it was _you_ who found me."

James nodded and sat down on the teacher's desk, crossing his arms and seemingly thinking seriously about what he should say. The two sat in slightly awkward silence for a while, until James finally opened his mouth again.

"I came to England in the early 1700's," James said slowly, "around 1710 or '12, I think. I came here, going by the name Jamal Erais. Thought I'd change it to better fit the place, so I became James Evans. I met a lovely woman, settled down, became a potioneer and alchemist… things were good, really good." Harry nodded and focused completely on James. "Of course, when I'd spent some decades here with my family, I had to go; I faked my death, and made sure to keep track of my family, all the way down to my latest descendant."

Harry's eyes lightly widened.

"Wait, so you're… _no_. No, you can't be," Harry muttered.

"I'm one of your ancestors, Harry," James nodded. "I was born centuries ago, around Damascus, and I was given the name Jeriko."

"Then how are you still alive?" Harry asked.

James wordlessly unbuttoned his right shirt sleeve and rolled it up. He then held out his arm so that Harry could see a brand–like mark right beneath the crevice of his elbow.

"This…" he sighed, and looked a little sad, as if remembering something painful, "is the Mark of Cain. It lets me stay young, and if someone were to kill me, I'll resurrect some time later."

Harry looked at it with wide eyes, and looked up at James.

"You're immortal!?"

"As long as I have this," James nodded. "And as of yet, I haven't found a way to remove it."

"So… are you…"

"Cain from the Bible? No, I'm not," James shook his head. "My master taught me a good… six thousand years ago, I think. As far as I know, he's the one who invented it. Of course, that means he has it, too, and is likely still out there, somewhere."

Harry nodded.

"He never taught me how to remove it," James said, "and I honestly don't think he knows how to do it himself. I think he figured out how to do it, and then thought that, since he has eternity, he would eventually figure out a way to remove it."

Harry stared at his adopted father speculatively.

"Would you have removed it, if you could?"

James scrutinised Harry a little.

"Yes," he finally said after almost a minute of silence. "A long time ago."

Harry nodded.

"Needless to say, I'd rather you didn't tell anyone about what I've just shared with you. Not even Meerlinda. You understand?"

"Naturally," Harry nodded and stood up. "Why don't we go get dinner?"

James snorted and smiled.

"Sure. I'm starving."

•••

Harry and James parted ways as Harry moved to the Slytherin table, and James moved towards the staff table. Harry smiled at his father, and looking at him, he also glanced behind him, noticing a certain redhead sitting at the table, who was visibly enraged. Harry then smirked a little, and turned back to look at the table, and a single alarm bell went off in his head when he saw Theodore Nott sitting with Harry's group. He pushed it down and ignored it. He took his customary seat next to Blaise, who looked over at Harry.

"Theo's got something to tell you," he said seriously.

Harry leant forwards and looked at the boy.

"Malfoy's making a move against you tonight," Theo said, leant forwards as well. "He's rounded up Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, and some others. Even Soriens is in on it."

Harry smirked.

"So he wouldn't just stand down, eh?" Harry pondered. "Guess I should have stepped on his girl a little harder."

"Would you have killed her?" Daphne asked, looking very serious, and… a little disturbed?

"No, I wouldn't," Harry said. "I may be a little detached, I'm well–aware of that, but I'm no murderer."

Daphne seemed relieved, and went back to eating off her plate. Harry turned back to Theo.

"D'you know any details?"

"Just that they're going to storm your room after midnight," Theo said. "No specifics."

"And what'd you want for this information?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Theo didn't falter in the slightest. It was clear to Harry that he had rehearsed that particular question in his mind, meaning that he _obviously_ wanted something.

"Well, that's not very Slytherin of you," Harry commented off–handedly. "Of course, the more Slytherin thing to do would be to try to gain my trust and confidence, and ask me for something at a later time."

Harry smirked as he saw Theo's eyes widen, knowing he had hit the nail right on the head.

"There's no shame in wanting something in return for a favour like that, Mr Nott. Name your price."

Theo's eyes flittered between Blaise, Tracey, and Daphne, who all just nodded at him.

"My father's in too deep with the Dark Lord and his followers to do anything," the boy began. "He wants out, but he knows we would be hunted down for treason to the Dark Lord. I wanted to ask if you could help us disappear in the Muggle world some time."

"Easy," Harry said. "I'll set up preparations in a few months, then. I assume there's no particular rush."

"There isn't," Theo nodded.

"Then I will let you know when I've made preparations for you. You can let your father know to reach out to me in Diagon Alley December 21st. I'll discuss the details with him then. I happen to know a quiet spot nearby."

Theo nodded, and then stood up from the table and left, presumably to go to the owlery to write to his father, seeing as he was headed outside of the castle. Harry then started lifting things over on his plate and began eating, enjoying being able to use his arm again. He did notice the spasms that occurred in it once in a while, and he even almost spilt his pumpkin juice when his elbow almost knocked the goblet over.

"So, do you have a date for the Yule Ball yet?" Blaise asked Harry with a slight grin and nudge with his elbow.

"The what?" Harry muttered, his mouth full of mashed potatoes and eyes wide.

"Come on!" Tracey laughed loudly. "You're a champion, and you don't know that there's a ball at Christmas as part of the Tournament!?"

Harry, his face set in a surprised, dumbfounded, and big–cheeked (his mouth was still filled with potatoes in a sauce) expression, shook his head very slowly, making the three Slytherins around him. Harry slowly continued chewing, and swallowed bit–by–bit, until his mouth was empty.

"I'm sorry, but I've been rather busy," he said. "Not only making sure you all have a job out of school," that did put a lid on them, "but also making sure I can survive any other task the Tournament sets before me. I'm spending nine hours a day studying while you're all gossiping about who's going with who, if I know the Hogwarts rumour mill as well as I think."

The others looked at each other thoughtfully, and then nodded at him.

"Jesus, a ball?" he muttered and began looking around. "Christmas, you say?" he looked at Tracey, who nodded. "Hmm…"

Harry quickly started his mental search for a suitable partner.

 _First, Slytherin's out of the question. They hate me almost as much as Gryffindor._

 _Second, Gryffindor's out, cause they hate me more than Slytherin does._

 _There was that Kylie girl from Ravenclaw, and there are some from Hufflepuff that seem like they're friendly enough._

Harry looked around at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, until midway through his scouting, his eyes landed on Daphne right in front of him, who looked at him with a strange expression he hadn't seen before, at least not on her. When she noticed that he focused on her, she averted her eyes and looked away.

"Daphne, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" Harry asked, rather matter–of–factly.

"Sure," Daphne replied off–handedly, though Harry noticed the slightest hint of a blush.

Harry was a little suspicious of it, so for just a moment, he focused on his ears and his nose, extending and enhancing his senses. He could see the way she slightly shifted, the pull of the corners of her mouth, hear her heartbeat slowly pick up speed, and he could smell something, something slightly… _off–putting_.

 _She likes me? … shiiiiiiiii–_

"Great."

– _iiiiiiiit._

Harry and co. then went back to eating, making very little small–talk as they did.

•••

Around one at night, Malfoy and several others made their way towards one of the doors of the fourth–year rooms, creeping towards the one with the plaque reading 'Harry Potter'. Malfoy crept up and lightly tested the handle, finding the door locked. He then pulled out his wand, waved it at the lock, and whispered "Alohomora." The lock clicked open, and Malfoy smiled viciously. He opened it and peeked inside, though the darkness kept him from actually seeing much. He looked back at Pansy Parkinson.

"Cast Lumos, but keep it out of the room," he whispered. "Just enough to see."

The girl nodded and drew her wand, waved it and quietly muttered "Lumos." Her wand lit up with the light, and she kept it so that it only shone a little into the room, letting Malfoy see the foot of the bed. Malfoy, unable to contain his grin, slowly and quietly moved forwards, up to the bed, and then quickly grabbed the body lying in the bed and pulled him out as roughly as he could.

"Arrrgh," a murmur came from the bundle of sheets that was now lying on the ground.

"We've come to teach you a little lesson, Potter," Malfoy said with a grin.

"What'd you mean 'Potter'?" the voice muttered.

Malfoy's eyes widened, and then tore off the covers.

"Pansy, light!" Malfoy shouted.

As the girl rushed to do as her boyfriend ordered her, the light fell upon the person who was wrapped up in the bedsheets, only to find that it wasn't Harry, but rather, a tired–looking, lightly smirking Blaise Zabini.

"You're too predictable, Malfoy," Blaise said as he stood up, wearing some dark robes instead of sleep–wear. "Did you honestly think Harry hadn't figured you out?"

Malfoy blanched, and turned around, only to see the rest of his group pushed into the room by some big sixth and seventh–year boys. Blaise smoothly walked around them, and the big boys let him through, and soon, the light was turned on to reveal Harry standing between the goons.

"See, Malfoy, your name may carry some weight with the spawn of other Death Eaters, seeing as they're your father's friends' children," the black–haired boy wearing an immaculate, all–black suit said with a polite smile on his lips. "I'm Harry Fucking Potter. Your _family's_ rich? _I_ am rich. Your family is Noble? Mine is Most Ancient and Noble. You're clever? Please," he said and snorted. "You're a child, playing your father's game, and failing miserably at it. I run a multimillion pound firm, and I am growing on the Wizarding world as we speak. Your family will soon be scraping at my feet for any scraps I might deem you fit to have. Well, if you stop following a mentally unstable sycophant who won't hesitate to kill you for any, tiny mistake. And I'm honestly growing sick of you and your _friends_."

Harry then pulled his left hand out of his pocket, which held a leather pouch. He then turned it upside down and poured some black dust over the threshold of the doorway, muttered some quiet, obscure words, and then stood back up, smiling at them once more.

"Enjoy your stay, Malfoy," Harry said. "I would say that the boundary spell would end in a few hours, but it would seem that it draws upon the residual magic of the castle, which is constantly powered by the students and teachers here, as well as having millennium old warding spells and protection barriers surrounding it. Who knows? This spell may _never_ end."

Harry's smile turned from polite, into something different, something _predatorial_ and _sadistic_.

"Have fun," he said and turned around, ordering the big boys back to the common room with a throw of his head.

As the three entered the common room, every other Slytherin was gathered there, from first to seventh year, with the exception of those who had gone into Harry's room that evening.

"Housemates," he said aloud, addressing them all. "What you have seen here tonight is an example of what happens when you cross me. Attack me, and I will respond with devastating force," his eyes momentarily hardened and became cold. "However," his smile returned almost instantly, "work with me, and respect me, and I will show you the camaraderie that a Hogwarts House is meant to have. Mutual respect, understanding, and good treatment is essential to peaceful coexisting. I'm not saying to like each other, or to 'love thy enemy'," a few of the Muggleborn snorted, all of whom numbered a mere five, "but to show each other respect. Disputes should be settled quietly and calmly. Anger and hate only lead to more anger and hate. And if you will let me, I will do my best to ensure that the House of Slytherin is restored to it's glory, and will regain it's respect from the other Houses."

A small first year girl stuck up her hand in the air.

"Yes?" Harry chuckled lightly.

"So, will the bullying stop?" she asked quietly. "From Gryffindor?"

"I will personally address any issue you have with them with their Head of House, Professor McGonagall," Harry nodded. "And if that fails, I will go straight to the Gryffindors."

"How'll you get in?" a sixth year asked lazily.

"I'll figure that out if I have to cross that bridge," Harry said. "But trust me, and have faith in me, and I will make sure it will be rewarded."

There were murmurs and whisperings throughout the House, and people started back towards their dorms. Harry caught the little girl who had spoken up by her arm as she tried to pass him, and he knelt down besides her.

"Who's been bothering you, and how?" Harry asked the small girl.

"Well, there's a few boys in fourth year who like to tease us," she said. "They take our bags and things, and hide them or keep them from us, and they call us snakes and serpents and other things, too," a few tears started welling up in her eyes, but none of them rolled. "They just won't stop."

Harry had a nagging suspicion he knew who she was talking about.

"Does one of them have red hair and freckles?" he asked.

She nodded wordlessly.

"Can you tell me your name, and the names of everyone else you know they've been bothering?" he asked gently.

She nodded, and took the pen and notebook he handed her. She quickly wrote down some names, about seven or eight, and then handed it back. Harry then stood and patted her head.

"I'll take care of it, don't worry," he said. "Get some sleep."

She nodded and smiled a little at him, before she went to bed. Harry noticed that the two seventh years who had pushed Malfoy and the others inside his room, waited for him, looking eerily like Crabbe and Goyle.

"Mathias, Oliver," Harry said. "What is it?"

They looked at each other, and then nodded.

"We've heard rumours that you let Greengrass, Zabini and Davis join your firm when they're out of school," Oliver, a big boy with shoulder–length, dirty blond hair and strong, Nordic features said. "We'd wondered if you'd… have a spot for us, too. This is our last year."

Mathias, another big boy, but with more regal, European features, dark brown hair and deep, hazel eyes nodded. Harry assessed them for a little.

"What're your skills?" Harry asked.

"I'm pretty good at Defence," Mathias said. "Got a good grasp on Transfiguration, too."

"I mean occupational skills," Harry said, and leant against one of the walls. "What'd you want to do for a living?"

The two big boys looked at each other with a little confusion, and it was Oliver who spoke up first.

"I want to become an investigator," he muttered. "My mum read me Sherlock Holmes when I was little."

"Well, as it happens, I have a private investigations department in my firm," Harry said. "I can get you a mentor and tutor there, until he thinks you're competent enough to handle cases on your own. It might take some years, though."

Oliver nodded, his face as if set in stone, but Harry noticed the small twinkle in his eyes.

"I want to be a– a head of security," he said. "Me da's an auror, but I don't want to work for the Ministry."

"I can start you as a paid intern, but you have to get some Muggle security courses before you can become an employed security guard. Laws and regulations, and all that. But sure."

The two nodded and turned around, but Harry did catch their fist bump as they headed towards their own dorm. Harry walked over and sat down in front of the fireplace, and stared off into space. He thought back to an incident that no one knew of, because of Harry.

Harry had condemned a man to death.

•••

 **December 11th, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry sat outside the Gryffindor common room, wearing his Cloak of Invisibility. He waited patiently, having just left dinner. His arm was still in a sling, but he had regained most of his hand's movement, even if he could still not move the rest of his arm. He merely sat and waited, until he saw a pair of second or third year Gryffindors came up to the portrait of the Fat Lady, as Harry had heard the picture referred as.

"Fairy Lights," one of them said, and Harry couldn't help a small smile.

•••

In the quiet of the night, around one or two in the night, Harry stood up from the chair he had conjured outside the common room, and then leaned close to the portrait.

"Fairy Lights," he muttered.

"Mhmm," the Fat Lady muttered, and looked around. "Wh'szer?"

"Filch almost just got me, he's on the way!" Harry whispered in a rushed tone, unable to keep the smirk off his face under the cloak. "Please, let me in! Fairy Lights!"

"A'rite," she muttered and swung open.

Harry slithered in and made sure no one was around. He moved towards one of the staircases, preferring to get this over with and get out of the room where no one would realise a person's head had been blown off if there wasn't a body. Everything was red and gold.

 _And to think I thought of Slytherin as pretentious_ , Harry thought to himself. _At least they have other colours than green and silver._

Harry moved towards one of the sets of stairs, and was about to step on, until he heard some small clattering on stone floor. Harry quickly whipped around and saw, his eyes brightening the room as they glowed a slight green, a small, grey, fat rat skittering across the floor, towards the portrait. A burning sensation bubbled up in his chest, and rage welled up in him.

 _Oh, no you_ _ **fucking**_ _don't._

He felt warmth spread through his body, flowing to his legs as he felt the dark energies of his vampiric blood rouse from it's dormant slumber. Quick as a lightning, he leapt and, with his left hand, grabbed the scurrying rat. He immediately stuffed the now squirming rat between his right arm and his body. The rat squealed and thrashed, but Harry squeezed harder and ran back to the portrait. He pushed his way out, drawing annoyed curses from the painting, and then pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket. He flicked it open and put it to the rat's throat, making it immediately freeze.

"Make a sound, make a move, even fucking _think_ of trying to escape or change back, and I _will_ slice your throat open!" Harry hissed at the rat as he ran back down the moving staircases. "I'm not kidding, Pettigrew! You may not have been the one to cast the curse, but you enabled the _**thing**_ that slaughtered my parents! I won't hesitate, and I won't feel bad about gutting you here and now! Be quiet, and come peacefully, and you will live."

The rat didn't move an inch as Harry ran down the stairs, and finally reached the entrance hall where Dumbledore, James, and Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who was escorted by two aurors, one of whom was carrying a small cage with barbed insides. Harry quickly dove behind a wall, obscuring him from view, and quickly shrugging off the cloak. He then walked back out into the hall and quickly made his way over to the auror holding the cage.

"Take him," Harry said and held out his right side, and the auror quickly snatched the rat and roughly stuffed him in the cage.

"You've done a great service, Mr Potter," Bones said and looked at him, a little sorrowfully. "I can imagine it isn't easy carrying the man who betrayed your family."

"He's a rat," Harry said. "It wasn't difficult. Weighs barely a pound."

Madam Bones looked a little disturbed at Harry's cold statement, as did Dumbledore, but James merely looked at Harry with some pride.

"I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain, though," Harry said icily.

Madam Bones sighed, and looked resigned to doing something bad.

"Peter Pettigrew will be kissed by a dementor at midnight tomorrow, exactly. He will then be tossed into the ocean around Azkaban."

"Perfect," Harry said. "Then our business is concluded. Have a good evening."

He then turned around and walked down towards the Slytherin common rooms. Dumbledore, James, Bones, and the two aurors all looked after the boy, and most of them then looked at James.

"How've you raised the boy to become _that_?" Bones asked, looking and sounding slightly disgusted.

"James, what've you done?" Dumbledore asked, sounding very disappointed.

"I taught him how to survive in a cut–throat world," James said, sounding almost as cold as Harry just had. "You may think that people should aspire to goodness, kindness and altruism. That's all well and good… but I will not let Harry grow up naïve of the way the world works, how it _truly_ works. He is equipped to deal with _anything_ in the Muggle world. Hell, he pulled crap out from where the sun doesn't shine in that Wizengamot court. He just used basic, simple, and incorrect terms, procedures and operations, and yet, he utterly destroyed it. So I think I taught him well. Can you say the same about Hogwarts?"

•••

 **December 17th, 1994**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry was so vividly aware of Pettigrew's squealing and scratching to get away, the transformed man most likely knowing at least most of what was going to happen. Harry had lied to him, told him he may live if he cooperated. Of course, the deal he had made with Amelia Bones a couple of days after the trial of his now cleared godfather ensured that Pettigrew would _not_ live, even if he cooperated. Harry had brought a man to his death, practically single–handedly locked him in the final place he would ever see.

And he felt nothing.

No dread, no guilt, no victory and no relief.

Just nothing.

Harry rubbed his eyes, feeling rather tired, yet he couldn't enter his room to sleep. Thankfully, one of the older students proficient at charms had cast a silencing charm on the room, so no one would be bothered by the students trapped in there, banging on an invisible wall of nothing but magic behind him at the very moment.

So, Harry did something he'd never thought he would do.

"Can I sleep in here for the night?" he asked.

"Sure," Blaise said. "You did, after all, sacrifice your room to give us all some peace and quiet."

"Thanks."


	9. Chapter 9

**Teen Drama**

 **December 21st, 1994**

 **Diagon Alley, London**

"Lord Nott?" Harry asked from the shadows as he noticed a vaguely familiar man walk past the alleyway in the magical district of London.

The man whipped around, his hand inched slightly towards his wand, but it seemed he regretted it, and quickly retracted his hand, adopting an apologetic expression.

"Apologies," he said. "Force of habit."

"I understand," Harry nodded with a smirk. "If anyone asks, I do under no circumstances constantly check my right wrist for the watch that rests on my left one, despite having never worn it on my right."

Nott Sr smirked a little at that, but stepped into the alley and leant against the wall opposite of Harry.

"Your son sends his regards," Harry said. "He also explained the situation to me. Are you sure you want to disappear into the Muggle world? You can't attack Muggles around you without blowing your cover, you know."

"My father tried drilling a hatred for Muggles into me," Nott Sr said, "but I never felt like catching it. I won't mingle with them, but I won't hurt them for no reason."

"That's a good start," Harry nodded. "I can get you passports, birth certificates, every kind of identification you need in the Muggle world. I just need to know the exact details you want. It will all cost a larger sum, but I can make it work fairly easily. The process is more costly on time than anything else; I have contacts that can make sure all your documentation is registered in the Muggle offices and archives, but it takes time. A sudden appearance of such things alerts them, and we could do without the attention."

"I could just use magic to make them forget seeing us," Nott shrugged.

"No, you couldn't," Harry shook his head. "This isn't the medieval where it could take Muggles weeks to get a message across the country. They can send messages almost instantly, and they keep meticulous records. You curse one, they send another, and another, and another, until the cycle starts over with the first one you cursed. As amazing as I find magic, I understand how the Muggle world operates," Harry said seriously. "Magic isn't enough to solve all problems in the Muggle world."

Nott studied Harry for a little, but then nodded in slight resignation.

"First, one of these days I need you and Theo to come with me to a small studio here in London to take pictures for your identifications. You only have to worry about starting to learn about the Muggle world, so I'll send a package with reading material to your house. Make sure to read it and do as it says. It's basic maths, history, electricity, carpentry, and a lot of other pamphlets and short guides to mundane things that most Muggles know."

"That won't be necessary," Nott said. "I _can_ count, and I know history."

"Yeah, pureblood, Ministry, and goblin history, most likely," Harry countered. "None of that applies in the Muggle world. You need to know a little about biology, geography, physics, chemistry, things like that. No Muggle can tell you how the first goblin rebellion turned out, but they can all tell you at least a little about the moon landing, the basics of gases, liquids and solids, metals, Newton's laws–"

"Wait, moon landing?" Nott asked with a deep frown. "The Muggles have gone to the moon?"

"Yeah, back in the late 60's," Harry shrugged and spoke sarcastically. "You _are_ aware that space travel is now in the realm of possibility, right? _Every_ Muggle knows that much, _at least_."

Nott sighed lightly.

"Alright, I get your point. I'll read it," he gave in.

"Good," Harry said. "You'll also have to withdraw money from Gringotts in the form of pounds. I would suggest getting some Euros as well, if you need to go to the mainland to get farther away. I know that up in Denmark, the people are pretty good at English, though they have another currency, crowns. I'd suggest getting mostly pounds, and then some of a few others, just to be safe. I will buy a place for you to live anywhere you decide to go, and then you pay me back in galleons, sickles and knuts."

Nott nodded.

"I do have a friend in Paris you can go to. He's much deeper in this kind of stuff. He taught me the basics of hiding in the modern world, and how to go underground if you need to. He has a bunch of tattoos on his right arm and goes by the name Jack. He speaks English, but his accent keeps shifting between Scottish, Irish, English, American, and a few other non–English countries. If you find him, despite how average he initially looks, you can't miss him. Tell him I murdered you."

Nott raised a brow at that.

"It means I helped you disappear," Harry shrugged. "He'll know what you mean."

"Thank you for your aid, Lord Potter," Nott Sr said. "I plan to take Theo with me in a year or two. I'm not afraid to die, and I honestly think I kind of deserve it, but if my disloyalty to the Dark Lord is uncovered, the others won't just _kill_ Theo in front of me. I can't risk putting him through that."

Harry studied Nott, but he found not the slightest hint of dishonesty.

"'Place your trust and faith in me, and you will have my undying loyalty'," Harry quoted from memory. "My adopted father raised me with that doctrine. If you trust me and remain faithful to me, Lord Nott, I will never betray you. That much is certain," he finished, with a slightly glazed look in his eyes.

"Your adopted father sounds like a great man," Nott commented.

"The greatest," Harry said distantly. He then shook his head and returned to the present. "That concludes our business for now, Lord Nott. I will contact you through Theo sometime in the holidays, and then we'll go to get your photos taken. After that, I will let Theo know when everything is set and ready."

Nott Sr stared deeply at Harry for a little, then extended his hand. Harry took it, but as soon as he did, Nott enclosed his other hand on top of Harry's.

"The Noble House of Nott swears an oath of loyalty to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter," he muttered with closed eyes, and a slight, yellow glow emanated from their hands.

Harry watched in fascination at the glow, the magical manifestation of the oath. Nott Sr released his hand when the glow subsided.

"Theo and myself are at your service, Lord Potter," Nott Sr said. "Have a pleasant holiday."

With that and a nod, the older man disappeared in a 'crack', leaving Harry alone. Harry was quite surprised and stunned.

"Well, I did _not_ expect that," he muttered and started walking towards Gringotts.

•••

"Mmmmm!" Harry moaned angrily as the Stinging Hex struck him right on the thigh, inches from his crotch. "You did that on purpose!" he accused at James through clenched teeth.

"Of course I did," James called back from a few metres off, holding his wand in a duelling stance. "You should've deflected it."

"But you didn't tell me exactly how," Harry said back. "Just said 'it'll come naturally."

"It will!" James said with a small smirk. "I just never said it would come quickly."

Harry sent the man a glare, but then took his own stance once again.

"If it helps," James began, "try imagining a… a piece of near–solid cloth being tied to the end of your wand. Imagine it's surface just letting the spells slide off it, kind of," he said, and grimaced as he realised it was a lousy explanation.

"Hmpf," Harry muttered, and then lit up his wand, sending a few jinxes at his adopted father.

To his dismay, James batted them all away effortlessly without looking away from Harry's eyes.

"As impressive as it is that you did them non–verbally, a few first–year jinxes won't do you any good in a real fight," James said.

"Well, I'm sorry that they're the only offensive spells that I know," Harry muttered with irritation.

He sighed and lowered his wand and closed his eyes a little, until he felt something. Something that made his skin crawl. Without thinking, he opened his eyes and saw a streak of red light sailing through the air towards him at high speeds. Before he knew what was going on, he felt the blood in him heat up, and his right arm holding his wand slashed upwards. His eyes widened as he saw the red spell be cleft in two, each part sailing right past him. He stood there, wide–eyed and with his right arm raised towards the sky, not fathoming what had just happened.

"HAH!" James exclaimed victoriously. "You did it!"

Harry's wide eyes levelled on James, and he just stared at him.

"The fuck?" he muttered quietly.

"What you did, right there, that was _incredibly_ advanced, Harry!" James cheered. "It's the same principle as deflection, but you _split_ it instead!"

"What?"

"Deflection is like a tiny, tiny shield on the tip of your wand, but you can morph that shield into an even tinier blade instead, and cut a spell! It takes way less energy and power, but it is _much_ harder!"

Harry lowered his arm and stared at his wand in amazement.

"I just… _felt_ something, and I reacted," he muttered.

"Remember that feeling," James said happily. "It'll help you _a lot_!"

Harry sighed and looked at his right arm, only to quickly switch to his left, and glanced at his watch.

"I'd better get back and get ready for the ball," Harry said.

James nodded and walked over to his charge. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and smiled brightly at him.

"You're going to be a great wizard one day. Of that, there's no doubt in my mind."

Harry nodded and clapped James on the shoulder before he headed inside.

•••

Harry stood in the common room, dressed in a black, pinstripe Logsdail suit with a white dress shirt, a midnight–black tie, and shiny black oxfords. He had silver cufflinks and a silver tie clip. On his left hand's ring finger was the Potter–Peverell Lordship ring, and his usually slightly unruly hair was neatly swept backwards, and his face freshly shaven. He noticed the looks he received from the other Slytherins as they passed him, most of them wearing robes instead, though some of the girls wore rather normal–looking dresses instead of robes. Mostly, they were half–bloods, he noticed.

 _Of course they have a wizarding equivalent,_ Harry silently admonished himself. _Oh, well. Suits look much better_.

Soon, he was joined by Blaise who wore Versace in mostly black, though he wore a skinny, deep green tie.

"That suit brings out your Italian heritage," Harry commented. "It looks good on you."

"And you look like a British, dapper gentleman," Blaise countered. "Likewise."

Harry snorted lightly. It instantly stopped when he saw their respective dates enter the common room together.

Tracey wore a green dress the same shade of green as Blaise's tie. It was a rather simple cocktail dress, stopping mid–thigh and with wide shoulder straps. She noticeably wore a little eyeliner and eyeshadow in deep green as well, and her lips were dark with lipstick. Finally, her dark–blond hair was tied up in a tight bun. Harry thought she looked just fine, but it was Daphne that really caught his eye.

Her dress was as black as the sky of a moon–less night, and clung tightly to her body around her chest, waist, and hips, but fell loosely around her legs, allowing for free dancing movement. Her dress stopped just below her knees at the front, but reached her lower calves in the back, and the edges were cleanly cut. There were thin, round straps on her shoulders, and Harry thought it suited her perfectly. Her nails were polished, yet still their natural colour, and her face looked almost like it always did, with only the slightest hint of a darker eyeshadow, some eyeliner, making her eyes seem twice as blue, and her lips were as full, luscious and pink as ever. Her raven–black hair hung loosely around her shoulders, only very lightly and loosely curled, making it appear thick, light, and wavy. She looked almost like she always did, but her natural beauty somehow seemed so much more heightened. She smiled coyly at Harry through the hair that rested in front of her face, and he almost felt his breath get caught in his throat.

"You look stunning," he said with a charming smile.

"So do you," Daphne responded with a smirk that did _something_ to Harry, only he couldn't really explain _what_.

Tracey and Blaise shared a glance and a smirk, before Tracey took Blaise's offered arm and the two headed out of the common room. Harry and Daphne were caught up in each other for a few moments until Daphne realised what had happened.

"Let's get up there, hmm?" she asked.

"Hmm?" he asked, snapping out of his reverie. "Oh, yeah, right."

Daphne giggled lightly at him, and took his arm as he offered it.

•••

Harry and Daphne drew many looks as they walked up to the other three champions and their dates. Cedric was accompanied by an Asian girl Harry recognised as a Ravenclaw, Fleur Delacour was accompanied by a seventh year Ravenclaw, and Viktor Krum was accompanied by Hermione Granger, of all people. It took Harry a few moments to realise who she was.

"Granger cleans up nicely," Daphne muttered, her 'Ice–Queen' mask back in place.

"I suppose," Harry lightly shrugged, his own face also set in a dignified expression as if carved in stone.

The two made for quite the regal–looking pair, and one wouldn't be far off by thinking they could easily attend a ball for royalty the way they were; they were both certainly cleaned and dressed up for the occasion, and they were both from old pureblood families. They gave off an awe–inspiring aura, radiating a sense of dominance and superiority. Harry noticed Hermione's frown, clearly not liking it. He quite easily heard the comment she whispered to Krum.

"They look like they think they're the most important people in the world," she whispered with slight irritation.

Krum looked behind him at the pair, both of whom nodded curtly at him. A clear sign of respect.

"It becomes clearer by the day you do not realise how vizard society vorks," he muttered back. "I do not 'no about the girl, but Harry descends from a very ancient pureblood family. By all accounts, he shuld be expected to act like that all the time."

"You can't be serious?" she muttered back and glanced back at Harry with an annoyed expression.

"The Potters may not be very important in Britain," he noted, "but they vere very vell–liked all over Europe, and considered vizard royalty to us all. If they called to arms, ve vuld all follo'."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she stared doe–eyed at Harry, whose expression remained as neutral as ever, though his eyes flicking towards Krum gave away the fact that he could hear them.

"Most old pureblood families on the continent have heard of them, and historically, the Potters have come to the aid of other contries if they were needed. Much of Europe o'es the Potters a great deal, and they have never asked for anything in return."

Hermione barely had time to process the information before the two front pairs started walking, and it was time to initiate the ball. The four champion pairs strode in, and while Delacour and Krum both drew a lot of gazes, it was Harry and Daphne that clearly were the centre of attention. The pairs lined up on the floor as they had been instructed, and Harry gently held Daphne's hand and rested the other softly on her hip. She briefly glanced down in an attempt to hide her blush, and Harry didn't think about mentioning that some of the makeup hid it very well. Soon, the music began, and the dance ensued.

Harry and Daphne whirled around, both of them having learnt how to dance quite well as part of their training from home. Even after the first dance were over, and the choreographed bit was done, the two continued. Harry gently guided her into a waltz, and she quickly recognised the dance and immediately kept up pace. Two dances later, and Daphne was breathing slightly laboured. Harry smiled and guided her over to a table where the other champions sat together, struck up in conversation and eating.

"Monsieur Potter," the French champion, Fleur, said and extended her hand. "I 'ave wanted to talk wiz you for some time."

" _Mademoiselle Delacour_ ," Harry said and took her hand, before leaning down and lightly brushing his lips against her knuckles.

He then sat down next to her, with Daphne sitting down next to him.

" _What would you like to talk with me about?_ " he asked in perfect French, drawing surprised looks from everyone at the table except Daphne, who seemed a little down compared to when they danced.

" _You speak French?_ " she asked with joyous surprise.

" _I do,_ " he nodded, " _but I doubt that was what you wanted to talk to me about._ "

" _Well, since we can talk privately like this,_ " she glanced at the others at the table, " _I would like to ask you if the girl next to you is your girlfriend?_ "

" _No, just a classmate,_ " Harry shook his head. " _Why do you ask?_ "

" _No reason in particular,_ " she said, smiling charmingly at him. " _I was just curious as to how you resist my allure._ " She lightly touched his forearm in a discreet manner. " _I find it…_ _ **vexing**_ _, that you are so utterly unaffected by it._ "

Something about the way she said that made Harry's thoughts flicker to something else, especially with the slightly predatory look in her eyes.

" _Allure?_ " he asked.

" _Yes, my veela allure,_ " she said, and then looked surprised. " _You don't know what a veela is?_ "

" _I can't say I do._ "

" _Oh my_ ," she muttered, this time lightly biting down on the inside of her lower lip, visible only to the trained eye. " _That's rather quite… interesting_."

" _I doubt that was the only thing, though_ ," Harry said, scrutinising her. " _Did someone you know and respect encourage you to approach me?_ " The slight twitch of her left eye told him all he needed to know about that. " _They did?_ " he asked with a smirk. " _A parent?_ " Her eyes widened slightly. " _A parent, hmm? You're right, that is quite interesting. Let me guess, something like 'get close to the Potter heir, it could be good for your future'?_ "

Fleur stiffened and sat back in her chair, suddenly no longer touching his arm or looking at him like he indeed was interesting.

" _How did you do that?_ " she asked, sounding now slightly irritated.

" _It's written all over your face, almost literally_ ," he mused with a smirk. " _You just need to know what to look for, and no one can lie to you. It's quite a neat skill to have, and one I cultivate at any given opportunity_." His smirk widened considerably. " _Secrets cannot be kept from me, Mademoiselle Delacour. Not by you, or anyone else._ "

Fleur's stare almost turned spiteful, and she turned back to her date. Harry then turned back to his own with a shit–eating grin, and he saw that she was smirking coyly.

"I almost thought you'd abandoned me before the ball really began," she muttered as she leant a little closer to him.

"A gentleman never abandons his date, whether or not he wants to," he said, draping his left arm loosely around her shoulders and raised his glass towards her, "and I can't honestly say that I want to abandon mine. Cheers."

She smiled and clinked her own glass against his, and they both took a sip. Their eyes remained connected through it all.

"So, anything you want to talk about?" he asked her.

"I'd like to talk about our business," she admitted.

"Let's hold off on that until later," he suggested. "I can't leave early; it would set a bad example. But I'm open to talking when it is appropriate for me to leave. We'll find somewhere quiet and talk things over. I suppose you don't want the others to hear it quite yet?"

She shook her head lightly.

"Very well, then," he nodded, and then movement caught his eye.

A small group of men were walking towards the table he sat at, and Harry knew they were there for him. He recognised Barty Crouch and Cornelius Fudge, but there were also a few other men he didn't recognise. Fleur seemed to recognise one of them, though.

"Papa!" she called out excitedly and stood from her seat.

"Mon Fleur!" he exclaimed with a bright smile as Fleur stepped around the table and ran into his embrace. "Comment ça va?"

"Ça roule!" she said cheerily and looked up at him.

"That's lovely to hear," he said, suddenly talking in near–perfect English.

Harry scrutinised the man carefully. Fleur's father, who had dark hair and beard, both very well–kempt, looked like he was no older than forty. His face was smooth, with only smile wrinkles to mar it. He was well–built, sturdy and strong–looking, but not so as to look anything out of proportion. He stood rather tall, definitely above 185. The way he smiled at Fleur, Harry recognised as a father's best smile. He may not have seen it on his own father, but he had seen it on James.

The British Minister for Magic noticed Harry, and waved him over with a serious expression. Harry didn't like the situation, but he still made to stand.

"It seems I'll have to abandon you for just a little, after all," he muttered to Daphne as he stood.

"It's alright," she muttered back. "I'll wait here."

Harry nodded and moved around the table, lightly tracing his hand across her shoulders in a silent apology as he moved. He then walked over to the Minister, his head held high and his back straight, exuding confidence in spades.

"Minister," Harry said stoically and shook the man's hand.

"Mr Potter," Fudge said with a nod. "I would like to introduce you to some people." He then turned to the other men he arrived with and gestured at a tanned man with grey hair, a moustache, and a pair of square spectacles. "Mr Potter, this is Maurice Beaufoir, the French Minister for Magic." Then he pointed at a taller, more muscled man with a big, black beard and long, black hair kept in a ponytail. "The Bulgarian Minister for Magic, Jaroslav Yankov." And finally, he gestured to Fleur's father. "And Sebastien Delacour, Vice–Minister of Finance in the French Ministry of Magic."

"Eet ees a jouissance to make your connaissance," Beaufoir said and stuck out his hand.

" _The pleasure is all mine, Minister Beaufoir_ ," Harry said in flowing, elegant French as he shook the man's hand.

" _Ah, you speak French!_ " Beaufoir exclaimed happily. " _I have, of course, heard many good things about you. I have found myself drawn to English news to follow your journey in the financial world. I would like to congratulate you on your firm, Mr Potter._ "

" _Oh, stop it_ ," Harry waved his hand with a bright, wide smile. " _You're making me blush_."

It had the desired effect, and made the French Minister laugh quite a deep, booming laugh.

" _Such wit_ ," came the deep, rough voice of one of the other men, this one of slightly pale complexion compared to Minister Beaufoir. He spoke Bulgarian, however. " _Can you match it in Bulgarian?_ "

" _I don't know_ ," Harry shrugged, however his near–prefect Bulgarian and the small smirk on his lips gave him away. " _Perhaps we could swap words for an hour or two, and you could find out_."

"What talent," Beaufoir said in English to Fudge. "You zertainly 'ave struck ze gold wiz zis one, Meeneester Fudge."

"I like to think so myself," Fudge nodded and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder with a smile on his lips. "Just a week or two ago, he acquitted Sirius Black in full Wizengamot court, a masterful display of judicial acumen."

"Truly?" Yankov asked with wide, amused eyes.

"It was nothing," Harry waved off with a smile. "I had no idea how the court system here was, so I used the more basic concepts from the Muggle one. And honestly, I was testing the waters, so I used some argumentation that may have been, to put it politely, hippogriff dung. Not that Sirius Black was guilty, he certainly wasn't. But, I wasn't sure how to go about things, how similar my experience with the Muggle legal system would be."

Yankov broke into deep, booming laughter as he took a glass of champagne from a passing house elf.

" _My goodness, boy! You have balls, I will give you that!_ " he yelled merrily in Bulgarian.

" _I would be concerned if I were without, Minister Yankov_ ," Harry smirked. " _Two thirds of his manhood suddenly disappearing would be disconcerting to any man_."

The minister laughed even louder, drawing many confused stares from the surrounding people. Harry couldn't help his own chuckle.

" _Ah, you may go far with that sharp, dry wit on it's own, Mr Potter_ ," Yankov said and clapped the boy on the shoulder. " _It would be my pleasure to host you in Bulgaria, some time._ "

" _And I should be delighted to take you up on that offer, Minister_ ," Harry bowed his head lightly, " _but I really should get back to my date. A gentleman never leaves a lady waiting for long._ "

"Of course, of course!" the Bulgarian minister said in English once more. "It was a pleasure meeting you, young man!"

"You too, Minister," Harry nodded, then bowed lightly at all the politicians gathered there, and turned back to go to Daphne.

When he came closer to the table, he noticed that Draco Malfoy, who had since been released from the confines of Harry's room by Snape, was busy having a heated argument with Daphne.

"Don't forget the contract!" Malfoy said angrily, his face flustered.

"I have no intention of marrying anyone even remotely similar to you, Malfoy," Daphne hissed, her mask slipping off her face as she became more angered. "Besides, until the time it actually becomes binding, I'm free to see whomever I so desire, and let me tell you, Harry is a million times better than you!"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body tensing for a moment, before he let out a tired sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he dropped his head backwards.

 _So that's what she wanted to talk with me about. God… fucking… damnit._

Harry took a few deep breaths, and then resumed his strong, confident demeanour as he strode towards the table once more.

"Draco, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't disturb my date," Harry said in an even, polite tone as he stepped up behind the boy.

The blonde ponce whirled around and whipped his wand into his hand, only for Harry to snatch it right out of his hand out of sheer reflex. Malfoy _really_ didn't like that.

"Give me back my wand, Potter!" he spat.

"And let you hex me in such esteemed company?" he said, gesturing to Daphne, Krum, Granger, and then back towards the ministers, Fleur and her father, who had all heard the commotion and looked their way. "I think not. How about this? You go about your evening without coming near us again, and I give you back your wand in the common room after I'm done with the ball. Deal?"

Malfoy glared at the boy, and then suddenly tried throwing himself at the hand holding his wand. Harry merely raised the hand and stuck out a leg, making Malfoy fall on his face right next to him. Harry heard the Bulgarian and French ministers laugh at the sight, though upon looking in their direction, found that Fudge's face tightened and paled very slightly.

 _Malfoy? Not Draco… Lucius. They probably have private dealings._

Harry pondered about that certain connection, and being distracted, didn't notice Malfoy's fist flying towards his face. Suddenly, he felt the impact on his face, and his head was flung backwards, but curiously, he didn't feel any pain. He looked at Malfoy, who he noticed was now screaming and holding his wrist gingerly. Harry then realised what had happened, and broke into laughter.

"You should learn to tighten your wrist when you decide to punch someone!" Harry exclaimed between laughing fits. "If you don't, you might break it!"

He then crouched down next to Malfoy and grabbed the boy's wrist. Malfoy tried to get away from him, but Harry carefully rotated and examined the wrist.

"Hmm, only sprained. You're lucky you're so weak. If you'd been stronger, you'd've broken your wrist instead. Go see Madam Pomfrey, it should only take a few minutes to heal."

Malfoy glared at Harry for a little, but then stood up and started walking in a hurried pace. He was too busy to notice when Harry placed Draco's wand in a pocket of the Malfoy's robes with a small smirk. Harry turned around, only to find Daphne's wand pointed at his face.

"Episkey," she said, and Harry felt a sudden, stinging twang in his nose.

He looked at her incredulously, until he then looked down and saw that, despite not having felt the pain or the liquid, his nose had been bleeding from the punch to his face. Harry just barely managed to catch the blood dripping form his chin with his pocket square before it fell on his shirt or suit jacket, and then wiped the rest of the blood off his lower face. He then went over and sat back down next to Daphne.

"Thanks," he muttered to her.

"It's not a problem," she muttered back with a small smile.

Harry nodded and looked around, only to see that things had died down a little. He cast a glance at Dumbledore a few tables down, to see that the Headmaster nodded at him, and Harry couldn't help but wonder at the small pang inside his head, and the approval of his decision he felt. Harry nodded back and took Daphne by the hand. He smoothly stood up, pulling Daphne after him, and headed towards the entrance hall. Daphne couldn't suppress a small smile, and slipped her arm around his. They walked side–by–side up to the seventh floor, where Harry decided that the room he used to workout in would be good enough, though he would have liked a more casual venue for their impromptu meeting.

He pushed open the door, only to see that the interior had changed drastically, leaving him stunned in the doorway, much to Daphne's confusion.

"The Hell?" he muttered and looked around with wide eyes.

"What?" Daphne asked.

"I usually work out in here," he muttered, looking around.

Gone were the benches, bars, weights and dumbbells. He looked around to see velvet, deep crimson drapes around windows letting in the moonlight; a thick, Persian carpet in Bordeaux–red rested beneath their feet; a soft–looking, classy, ivory–coloured sofa; a mahogany coffee table in front of the sofa; and a large fireplace spreading a pleasant warmth through the room a fair distance away from the coffee table. Harry also noticed a small bucket of silver, containing ice and a bottle of dessert wine. There were two glasses next to it.

Daphne looked around with a strange expression.

"You work out in here?"

"It looks different," Harry said and pulled her towards the sofa, his eyes still wandering the room. "Very different."

They sat down in the sofa, and Harry returned his focus to Daphne.

"Well, magic I guess," he muttered. "So, what did you want to discuss?"

Daphne scrutinised him for a little while, before she folded her hands anxiously in her lap.

"There is a contract between my family and the Malfoys," she said, her voice faltering only very slightly. "It was written a long time ago, and we've been trying to get out of it, but so far, we've had no success."

Harry sat back and adopted a more serious expression as he put one and one together, though he had suspected it from the moment he heard Daphne and Draco talk in the Great Hall.

"A marriage contract?"

Daphne nodded solemnly.

"It was drafted three generations ago, and we were certain the Malfoys had forgotten about it, but as it turns out, they hadn't. They just waited for the right moment to hold it over our heads."

"Tell me about it," Harry said stoically.

Daphne looked at him for a few seconds, seemingly trying to get a grasp on his feelings regarding the whole ordeal, but she could pick nothing out from his face.

"Back when the Dark Lord started his rise to power the first time, we Greengrasses decided to stay out of that entire mess. We're pureblood, so he mostly left us alone, though he did try to pressure us into joining him and his Death Eaters. We stood fast in our position that we were neutral, that we didn't want to jeopardise our livelihoods and alliances. He left us alone on the condition that we sign a contract with the Malfoys, or he would slaughter our family. We didn't have a choice, seeing as he was the most powerful dark wizard at the time. The Malfoys put the marriage–spin on it, and while we've been lucky enough to avoid it for almost fifty years, it's coming to haunt me, as the oldest Greengrass daughter and Heir to the Noble House of Greengrass."

"Well, I can see your predicament," Harry nodded, "but there's also an incredibly easy fix for it."

Daphne's head snapped up and looked directly at him with a horrified look.

"An easy fix!?" she exclaimed. "If there was an 'easy fix', we would have found it long ago!"

"Guess you just didn't look in the right place, then," Harry smiled. "As the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, as well as the Most Ancient House of Peverell, I could marry you right here, right now, and your contract would be null–and–void."

Daphne looked confused, and she could feel a fluttering in her stomach, an altogether not unpleasant feeling.

"What?"

"The Malfoys are a Noble House, which means that both of my Houses separately outstrip him by far in status. Meaning, I get first priority."

"If I _did_ marry you," Daphne's heart sank as she spoke, "he would just get to marry my sister, Astoria."

"Except that the contract, as you described it to me, requires the eldest Greengrass daughter and Heiress to the House of Greengrass," Harry said with a small smirk. "That would still be you until you have a daughter, and if you married me, you would be taken, at least buying you another – what? – fifteen, maybe twenty years to figure out a permanent escape from the contract, at least?"

Daphne's eyes widened, as she realised that he wasn't kidding.

"You would marry me to help me stay away from Malfoy?" she asked quietly, her eyes starting to sting.

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug. "I can't promise I would be an attentive husband in the beginning, though. My business is much too important to me to have any distractions for a good two or three decades yet."

Daphne's breathing quickened, as did her heartbeat. Her face flushed, and a single tear rolled from her left eye as she leant in, closing the distance between them. She slowly pressed her soft, silken lips onto his, though her heart ached when he didn't make the slightest move to reciprocate it. She then sat back again and looked at him. He looked… torn.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," he said quietly, his eyes serious and hardened like they usually did when his conversations with people veered onto rather personal matters. "I'll marry you, but I won't make any promises that I can make you happy, or feel loved."

Daphne's heart sank again, but at least she was a little relieved that she didn't have to worry about Malfoy for another long while. Not only that, she would marry a wealthy man who, whilst he had said he was only doing it for her to get free of Malfoy, would be able to provide for her and her children. Daphne then hesitantly leant against Harry, placing her head on his chest and curling up against him.

"Can I have this, at least?"

Harry remained quiet for almost a full minute, and she was about to move when he spoke again.

"Sure."

She snuggled against Harry, another tear escaping her eye. At least, she could have that.


	10. Chapter 10

" **I'm Going To Make You An Offer You Can't Refuse"**

 **January 6th, 1995**

 **The Potter Group offices, London**

Harry entered his executive office, followed by Blaise, who was wearing a dark, casual suit; Tracey, who wore a black, semi–formal dress; and Daphne, who was wearing a midnight–blue skirt suit with a white blouse. Harry himself was wearing his signature black three–piece, and he stopped when he saw Jaquelin sitting behind his desk, busily pouring over a heap of papers. He eyes were flittering from one piece of paper to the other, her lips mouthing the words listed on there as she read them to herself.

"Hm hmm," Harry cleared his throat, making Jaquelin jump and look up. "Everything going smoothly?"

"Yes, sir!" she said quickly and stood up with a piece of paper in her hand, showing it to him. "I'm going over the terms of a contract with Mr Yakamura. He was a little upset that you weren't there to meet him in person, but I made sure to inform him that you had appointed me to replace you yourself, and that he was in utmost capable hands. I showed him the premises he was looking into purchasing, and went over the details with him. We're finalising the transaction next week."

Harry nodded quietly.

"Jaquelin, come back in… fifteen minutes. I have a few forms for you to sign. Oh, and please bring in three chairs."

The look of despair in Jaquelin's eyes was noticeable. Everyone in the offices knew he only used that line when he was displeased. Jaquelin sombrely gathered the papers and quietly slunk out of the office, leaving the four teenagers alone in there. The three others looked at him a little differently than they had before: After all, they had never seen anything he was involved in, only heard snippets here and there. To actually walk into the offices of The Potter Group was another thing entirely.

"This place is wicked," Blaise muttered.

"Thanks," Harry said and walked over to his chair behind his desk and sat down. Only a minute later did the French–Englishwoman return with three chairs in tow, and then mutedly left the office once again. "Please, sit. We have a few of things to go over."

The trio of future employees of The Potter Group sat down in the recently–procured chairs and were attentive immediately.

"Blaise, how are things on your end?" Harry asked.

"I've found a lawyer who will let me intern over the summer, a solicitor," he said dutifully. "It's unpaid, but he assures me he will teach me what he can."

"Good," Harry nodded, and looked at the blonde. "Tracey?"

"I've been in contact with some enchanters in France," Tracey said. "If I can manage to come to France for extended periods of time, they're willing to apprentice me in the holidays. As soon as I dropped your name, they seemed really talkative," she added with a sly smile.

"Hmm," Harry snorted with a grin. "Daphne?"

"My father's arranged for a private advanced Potions tutor in the holidays," Daphne replied. "He's also been looking into the Apothecary and Slug & Jiggers. Interestingly, the Apothecary is falling a little on tough times in the past twenty years or so. Everyone goes to Slug & Jiggers these days."

"Hmm," Harry hummed, interested. "That _is_ interesting. And good with the tutor, too."

Harry leant back and studied the three teenagers sitting in front of him, his mind racing with possibilities.

"Blaise, I want you to go and find as many books on wizarding legislation as you can. Tell the shopkeepers to bill my vault," Harry said and wrote down his vault information on a piece of paper, before he handed it to Blaise. "Start reading, and don't stop. Trust me, it'll help."

Blaise nodded and accepted the piece of paper.

"Tracey, write down the names and address of the enchanters," Harry said and handed her a pen and a piece of paper. "I'll send them a letter of thanks, just in case."

Tracey began writing down the information.

"Daphne, if your father will put in… 20% of the cost, I will front the remaining 80% of what the owners of the Apothecary will charge for purchasing the establishment."

Daphne nodded.

"Father will almost certainly be willing to put up 30% of the cost," she said. "He also told me to let you know that that he is grateful for the opportunity you've given me at your firm, and invites you over to our estate the coming summer to thank you in person. Knowing him, though, he'll try to grill you for information on your exact plans, too."

"It would be fantastic if he would," Harry smiled slightly. "And, please let him know that I accept his invitation."

Daphne nodded once again, a small, pleased smile on her lips.

"Now, I encourage you three to go and look around the offices," Harry said and stood, at which the other three stood as well. "Tell someone nearby that I officially put them on break while they show you around. I have some business to attend with my assistant."

The three nodded, but looked a little nervous. Apparently, they had caught onto Jaquelin's dread. They left the office, and Harry then fished a form out of the top right drawer of his desk. He held it and looked at it, before he grabbed another, and then started filling in some of the blank spaces on them both.

"Jaquelin, you may come in now!" he called as he sat on the edge of his desk.

Not five seconds later did Jaquelin enter his office, her face pale as a sheet.

"Sir, if this is about sitting in your chair, I'm –"

"Have a seat," Harry gestured at his chair, interrupting her apology.

Jaquelin blinked once. Then twice. And thrice.

"W–what?"

"Have a seat," he repeated, once again gesturing to the chair behind his desk.

Jaquelin stared at his completely calm, neutral expression, but slowly moved over, around the desk, and hesitantly, almost fearfully, sat in the chair.

"How does it feel?" he asked calmly, his face and voice betraying nothing about his emotions.

"I… It feels… good, sir," Jaquelin said.

"Mhmm, I agree," Harry said, and then placed the forms on the desk in front of her. "Jaquelin, I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."

Jaquelin looked down on the form in front of her, and her eyes widened significantly.

"Is… Is this… real?" she asked as she looked over the things written on the form.

"If you want it to be," he said calmly, and then steadily held out a pen. "All I need… are two signatures."

Jaquelin eyed the pen hungrily, and then looked up at Harry with excitement in her eyes. She took the pen and quickly scribbled her name on the final line of the two forms, and then placed the pen on the table, releasing a deep, shaky breath.

"Jaquelin Luças, as per your written request, you are hereby relieved as Secretary at The Potter Group. And, as per our written agreement, you are now Chief Executive Officer of The Potter Group, effective immediately," he said and gathered the forms, his right hand then finding rest on the woman's shoulder, making her shiver in a strange, carnal delight. "Congratulations on the job. Please don't muck it up."

Jaquelin slowly stood up, and then bowed at the hip, lowering her head submissively.

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir. I won't let you down," she breathed heavily, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

"I think you won't," Harry said. "Does the term 'Hogwarts' mean anything to you?"

Jaquelin straightened with slightly widened eyes.

"So it does," Harry nodded lightly. "Why did you keep it from me?"

Jaquelin stared at it him for a while.

"I thought you had enough to attend to with The Potter Group, sir," she said quietly. "Adding an entirely new world and the title of The Boy Who Lived into the mix, I thought, would be a bit much, even for you."

Harry nodded, and then grabbed a post–it, before writing something on it.

"Loyalty is something I value highly, Jaquelin," Harry said and handed her the note. "Your concern for your boss moves me. I think a 5.000 galleon bonus in a private vault of your own at Gringotts wouldn't be out of the question."

She smiled widely and gingerly took the post–it, and then she took the offered hand and lightly shook it, though her hand was shaking plenty as it was.

"Thank you, sir!" she muttered. "Thank you!"

"Remain loyal to me, Jaquelin, and this will be nothing in ten years," he said and then stood and headed to the door. "Enjoy the office."

He left Jaquelin looking around herself with wide eyes, taking in her new office. He smirked as he closed the door behind himself. He then walked through the floor, down one set of stairs, and then walked over to another office with the nametag reading 'Carl Gregory, Lead Investigator'. He knocked on the door.

"One moment!" the man inside called, making Harry smirk.

He waited for almost a minute, until the door opened, and he saw Gregory standing with a notepad in his hand. Gregory's eyes widened as he saw Harry.

"Oh, forgive me, sir!" he said. "If I –"

"You were busy," Harry waved it off with a small grin. "There is a boy, seventeen years old. He's graduating from my school this summer, and then he's coming here to work and learn as an investigator. I'd like for you to make sure he get's a teacher when he comes here. I also need your assigned teacher to send a report of his activity and progress to my private address every month."

"Yes sir!" Gregory said with a serious nod.

"Good. And it's Mr Potter from now on. Your new boss is just getting acquainted with her office."

Harry winked at the investigator and then walked off to find the trio of Slytherins that were somewhere in his offices.

•••

The foursome strode through Diagon Alley, cutting an imposing figure as they did, all dressed in at least semi–formal attire. Blaise and Tracey were walking with their arms locked, as were Harry and Daphne.

"Which way was the Apothecary?" Harry asked her as they walked.

"Right down there," Daphne gestured a somewhat unassuming storefront.

Harry then proceeded towards the shop, the other three in tow. He held the door open as Daphne unlatched from his arm and headed inside, and then Tracey and Blaise entered, before he himself entered. As he walked in, he turned around and began browsing the wares, his back turned on the counter. The young woman behind the counter looked up at them with a smile.

"Welcome to the Apothecary, the place where you will find all your poitioneering needs. What can I help you with?"

She did seem a little startled by the four people in suits and dress, seeing as it was quite an uncommon occurrence.

"Is the owner in?" Harry asked over his shoulder, still browsing wares.

"Yes?" she asked slowly. "Why?"

Harry finally turned around and sent the young woman an incredibly charming, practically disarming grin.

"Please inform him that Harry Potter is here, and that I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse."

•••

 **January 31st, 1995**

 **Diagon Alley, London**

"Look! There he is!"

"D'you read the Prophet this morning!?"

"We should check it out!"

Harry walked with Daphne on his arm once again. He wore his favourite suit, and she wore a semi–formal dress ending right over her knees, and a blazer on top of it. They were both smiling as they walked towards where a large crowd of people were gathered, staring at the newly repainted shop. On the storefront was the new sign reading 'Potter Apothecary'. People stepped out of their way and applauded the pair as they walked towards the front door, where the former owner was standing in a new suit, smiling widely. Daphne let go of Harry's arm with a smile and stood a few steps away. Harry smiled out at the large gathering and waved at them.

"Thank you for the warm welcome this morning!" he called out to cheers. "It's my pleasure to introduce to you Newton Harp, the former owner," Harry gestured to the elderly man in the new suit who was smiling. "He's getting up there in his years, and I decided that I could bring some new business models to the Apothecary. Our first priority is you," he gestured out at the crowd. "We only have the best quality of ingredients, many of which are homegrown on British soil. Our greatest concern is your potion failing, so to that end, we're also offering top–notch cauldrons, knives and tools, all at a reasonable price so everyone can start making their potions. We're also happy to announce that we're offering a new service. You can make a custom order on any ingredient you need if we don't have it. All so long as it's legal, of course," he added at the men he saw wearing Ministry robes. "We customise your cauldrons and tools to your exact liking at a fairly low price compared to other places. We also deliver ingredients and smaller tools by owl, and we have a small selection of beginner's potions books for anyone who wants to begin getting in to it, and didn't pay attention at Hogwarts. Then again, that applies to just about anyone who wasn't in Slytherin," he chuckled, and the crowd laughed.

 _Hmm, none of them noticed I'm Slytherin myself._

"Mr Harp," Harry turned to the elderly man and smiled brightly, "thank you for your many years of dutiful service in providing quality ingredients to the people. I wish you the best in your retirement, and don't hesitate to come in for a chat whenever."

"I can rest easily knowing that you're here to take care of the people for me, Mr Potter," Harp said and smiled just as brightly as the two people shook hands. "If you ever need expertise on ingredients, you can ask whenever."

The two of them shook hands and posed for some photographs for the various papers, though a woman far beyond her imagined years wearing an utterly horrendous outfit stepped close with a quill and notepad that floated next to her.

"Mr Potter, Rita Skeeter from the Prophet!" she exclaimed excitedly. "What prompted you to purchase the Apothecary!?"

"Well, I noticed this little, underrated store in Diagon Alley and took a look inside. Now, I'm no potioneer, and I'm no expert on herbology, but in Slug & Jiggers, I could clearly smell the rot that was going on with their ingredients. In here, every single ingredient laying around gave off the exact aroma that it should. Now, I can't blame Slug & Jiggers, of course; the larger the business, the more small details become overlooked, and that's a fact in retail. But I thought that the Apothecary could use a helping hand, and Harp was looking to retire soon. Two birds with one stone, proverbially of course," Harry said with a smile, expertly hiding his disgust for the woman who was almost trying to rub up against him.

Another witch pushed her way forward, though she was far more tolerable.

"Mr Potter, Evanna Lance from Teen Witch Weekly! What is this thing going on between you and young Miss Greengrass!?"

Harry smiled warmly and held his hand out for Daphne. She took it with a warm smile of her own, and he pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

"I don't know," he said and looked back at the reporter. "It just felt… right."

He could feel Daphne stiffen up, but her face revealed nothing out of order. Even as she fluidly leant up and kissed his cheek, he could feel how tense she was, and he was acutely aware of how the display made her feel.

"Do you have any comments to make, Miss Greengrass!?" the TWW reporter asked eagerly.

"No," she said slowly and looked him deep in the eyes. "He summed it up pretty well.

Harry saw the longing in her eyes, yet her face betrayed nothing, as her pureblood training had instilled in her since she was little. Without hesitation, Harry leant in and placed his lips to hers, and she responded eagerly, but his motions were forced, stiff… cold. And he also very abruptly ended it, making Daphne sigh almost inaudibly.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to get back to school," Harry said, still smiling brightly as Daphne took his arm once again. He took a final look at Harp. "Have a good retirement, Mr Harp."

"And you have a fine day, Mr Potter," Harp returned with a small nod.

Harry and Daphne then walked back down the street, though when people tried to follow them, there was a sudden 'crack', and the couple disappeared. Harry and Daphne stepped from stone in Diagon Alley to grass right outside the gate to Hogwarts. Daphne immediately let go of him, and looked at him with a frown.

"Why'd you kiss me?" she asked.

"Thought it would sell the image better," Harry said with a shrug and placed his hand on the gate, which opened at his touch. "Your image is almost as important as your business, Daphne. You should know this."

Daphne grew a little sullen, but nodded and followed him through the gates, which closed behind them on their own accord.

"Besides, if we're going to marry, we should start putting up that front now. If we got married out of nowhere when we turn seventeen, people would get suspicious, and that could impact my business."

Daphne looked at him a little strangely.

"Is the business that important to you?"

Before she could react, Harry was standing right in front of her, his eyes hard and cold.

"My business is _everything_ to me. Make no mistake, you're my second priority. My business comes first. And _you_ came to _me_. _You_ asked _me_ if you could join. And I'm getting you out of your deal with the Malfoys. I like you, Daphne, but I am _not_ in love with you. Don't be confused by my act."

With that, Harry turned around and started walking once again. Daphne felt the burning sting of a tear trying to push it's way out of her right eye, but she kept it in. She also headed towards the castle, her shoulders squared and head held high.

 _I'm Daphne Bloody Greengrass. I'm better than this. Besides, he's right._

•••

Harry entered the castle around noon and headed straight towards the Slytherin table. He quickly found Blaise and Tracey and sat down with them.

"Where's Daph?" Tracey asked.

"She'll be here any minute," Harry said and began scooping food on his plate. "The unveiling of the Potter Apothecary went well, and Harp performed brilliantly, as did Daphne. Everything's going according to plan for now. Blaise, has your mother made progress?"

"She's found a small–time delivery service in Austria that specialise in transportation of plants and creature parts," Blaise nodded. "Reasonably low fee, very discrete, and they're not averse to slightly shadier transport, either, no additional cost."

"Nice," Harry nodded and took a bite of his toast. "Give her my thanks."

Blaise nodded. Tracey looked a little uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you want to deal in the black market?" she asked.

"A profit's a profit," Harry scooped a spoon of baked beans into his mouth. "Realistically speaking, Diagon Alley will be radically different in ten years' time."

Blaise just nodded and kept eating. He wasn't as opposed to the Dark Arts as Tracey was, nor was Daphne, though the latter preferred they didn't tell her what they were going to do. Harry had found that the Dark Arts came quickly to him. Violent cutting curses, blasting curses, he had even found a nifty, incredibly dangerous spell called 'Fiendfyre'. He'd tried it a few times, and there was something entrancing about it. A kind of euphoric feeling as the cursed fire consumed the forests he apparated to so he could practice in peace. He knew for a fact that McGonagall and Dumbledore would be appalled by the spells he had taught himself, a thought which brought a small, dark chuckle to his throat. Tracey looked at him, clearly uncomfortable with that particular sound.

Harry quickly finished his lunch and then stood up. He left the Great Hall just as Daphne entered, and she didn't spare him even a glance. He shrugged to himself and kept walking, though just as he reached the stairs leading down to the dungeons, he heard a sniffling and some raised voices. His ears perked at the sound, and he then headed up to the first floor. He walked down a hallway and slowly closed in on the sound. He reached a door that was ajar, and he silently pushed it a little more open. He peeked inside, and saw two girls in Slytherin robes, second or third years, curling up in a corner, surrounded by a bunch of boys in Gryffindor robes. He noticed that one of them had red hair.

"You bloody snakes ought'ta learn your lesson," he said with a snarl, his buddies nodding. "You send Potter to McGonagall and think we won't notice? You lost us a hundred bloody points!"

 _That's all they got?_ Harry thought to himself with a frown. _McGonagall's too soft._

He was abruptly torn from his inner monologue as Weasley kicked one of the girls, making her scream and cry out. Harry felt a vice around his chest squeeze, but he did nothing. He just watched as the Lions beat up the small, defenceless girls, and while he wanted to go in and stop them, he knew what he had to do. Harry stood and waited, watching as the girls were bruised and beaten, all the while a seething rage bubbled up in his chest.

 _If McGonagall is only going to take points, then I'm going to show them all physical, irrefutable proof._

Harry steeled his heart as he watched the ordeal happen. However, the thing that happened next pushed Harry over the edge. One of them, Finnegan Harry thought his name was, started unbuckling his belt. Harry's eyes widened in fury, but he waited. He waited, right up until he saw that the girls knew exactly what he was about to do. When their scream intensified and they tried to turn away, Harry took a step back and angrily kicked the door open.

The loud slam of the door hitting the stone wall drew the attention of everyone inside, and Harry glared at the boys.

"You gotta be shittin' me," Finnegan said with an angry tone, and was about to start buckling his belt again.

"Don't bother," Harry said in a dark, dangerous voice. "The professors are going to see exactly what's going on here." He then started towards them, but the third boy, a fifth year Gryffindor if Harry remembered correctly, moved towards him as well.

As they closed in on each other, the boy threw his fist at Harry, who just stepped aside and raised his foot. He then brought it down on the boy's knee hard, hyperextending it and making a loud 'crack' resonate in the stone–walled room. The boy screamed and dropped to the ground, but Harry kept moving towards the other two boys. Finnegan tried running at him, but his pants around his knees tripped him up and he fell flat no his face. Harry raised his leg again and brought it crashing down on the boy's head, making another 'crack' sound in the room, and slowly a small puddle of blood began forming on the floor. Seeing what had happened, Weasley drew his wand and fumbled with it, and in the instant of lack of concentration, Harry grabbed Weasley's old, second–hand wand and snapped it in half. Weasley roared out and tried tackling him, but as he lowered his body to run into Harry, Harry simply slammed his knee up into the boy's face. His left fist then landed hard on Weasley's face, and he grabbed the redhead by the collar of his robes. Again and again, he slammed his left fist into the boy's face, each time pulling back a slightly bloodier fist, until the boy's face was almost unrecognisable underneath the blood and with the swelling that was happening in his visage.

Harry's face through it all remained cold, stoic and impassive, yet his eyes burned like green hellfire, and his bruising and bloodied fist rammed the redhead's face one last time before he let go and Weasley unceremoniously dropped next to Finnegan. Harry stood back up and turned to the two girls. He approached them, but they pulled away in fear. Harry didn't let that deter him, and he grabbed one of their wrists each.

"We're going to the Hospital Wing," he said coldly. "Then I'm fetching the professors. That is not up for debate."

He dragged them along the corridors, and they eventually calmed down a little and followed him obediently. Harry led them to the Hospital Wing's doors and then released their wrists.

"Go in and see Madam Pomfrey," he said and turned around.

He just barely managed to hear their sobbing "Thank you", before he headed back down the stairs.

•••

Harry barged into the Head of Gryffindor's office, the door slamming open and making the wizened woman look up at him indignantly.

"You ought to respect the castle, Mr Potter," she said. "Five points from Slytherin."

"I don't give a flying fuck about the castle," Harry said coldly and moved over to her desk, making her eyes widen. "I don't care about respect, when messed up shit like what I just saw is happening here."

McGonagall was shocked beyond speech at his rude, crude, and impolite manner.

"Three of your students just assaulted two Slytherin girls," he said. "Ronald Weasley, the boy Finnegan, and someone else. Now, I am done using gloves," he held up his left hand, and her eyes widened even further (as impossible as it looked) as she saw the blood and the purple bruising that was forming. "From now on, I will shit fury on any Lion who steps a single millimetre out of line, understood?" he asked harshly. "And if all you're going to do to them is give them a talk and take some points, then I will be the fucking executioner. Now go fetch Dumbledore, Sprout, Flitwick, and Snape, and bring them all to the Hospital Wing. I want them all there to see and hear what happened."

Without another word, Harry turned back around and strode out of the room in a quick stride.

•••

Harry pushed open the doors to the infirmary, three boys floating behind him as he walked. When he came over to where the two Slytherin girls were seated and were being seen to by Pomfrey, Harry whipped his wand sharply, and the three boys, tied up in magical rope, dropped to the ground with loud thumps. The sounds drew the attention of the three people who were there, and the girls looked frightened at the sight of the boys, but when they saw Harry, he noticed the glints of hope and awe in their eyes. He walked over and stashed his wand away, before he knelt next to the girls.

"Are you alright?" he asked calmly, and his impassive mask faltered a little, revealing a semblance of concern.

One of them quickly flung her arms around his neck, and he paused for a moment, before he gingerly reciprocated the hug and began rubbing her back.

"It'll be okay," he muttered quietly. "I'll make sure of it."

The girl nodded into his neck, and then sniffed quietly. Harry heard a multitude of footsteps behind him, and he carefully unlatched her arms from him. He smiled and gently patted the top of her head before he turned and walked back towards the culprits and the professors approaching. Harry slipped his wand back into his hand and waved it, creating a sphere of privacy that made it so that the girls couldn't hear what happened.

"You sure took your fucking time getting here," he called out coldly.

"Language, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, it's English, I know," Harry replied mirthlessly. "What I need to know is how the fuck kids like these are still here at Hogwarts?"

"Harry, please calm down," Dumbledore calmly said.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Harry said, and then pointed at the girls. "Worry about them. Look at their injuries."

He then walked over to McGonagall and grabbed her by the wrist. She tried to pry him off, but he dragged her to the barrier he had created.

"Look at them!" he shouted at her. "Look! Your Gryffindors did that! What the fuck are you doing!?"

"I will not be spoken to in this manner, Mr Potter," McGonagall said sternly and looked at him angrily. "And release me this instant."

"Not until you tell me how the fuck kids under _your_ supervision can managed to do _that_!" he shouted again. "Look at the girls, Minerva! Tell me what you see! Because what I see are two beaten, bruised, terrified girls in pain, afraid of going to class because they know that once they leave the common room, they become vulnerable!"

"I can see just fine," McGonagall said.

"Then open your fucking eyes, woman!" he exclaimed and turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, I respect the bloody, infernal Hell out of you, but you need to do something about this shit! And while you figure out what to do, I _will_ do something about it! Now go take a good, close look at the girls, and make your own judgement," his voice calmed down. "I can't stand being anywhere near those hairless apes anymore," he said as he gestured at the three unconscious boys.

Then, he stormed out of the Hospital Wing, leaving the professors to take care of the situation. He had something else he needed to take care of.

•••

"Fairy Lights," Harry said as he stormed towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The portrait looked at her strangely.

"You're not a Gry–"

"FAIRY LIGHTS!" Harry shouted at the portrait.

She scowled, but reluctantly swung open for him. He crawled through the opening behind the portrait, and stepped out into the thoroughly red and gold common room, filled with Gryffindors laughing and chatting eagerly. A radio was playing music in a corner, and Harry scowled as he whipped out his wand and sent a blasting curse at the radio, which exploded into a hundred pieces. There were a few screams, but otherwise the room merely went quiet as everyone turned to look at him. Harry stormed forwards, and pushed past a boy who had stood up from his chair at a reading table. He stepped on the chair and then onto the table, and looked out over the gathered students who all looked at him with shock.

"Two little girls from Slytherin are in the infirmary right now!" he shouted at them. "Second or third years! Guess why!"

He waited for almost a second before he continued, as no one answered.

"Because Ronald Fucking Weasley, that Finnegan git and some fifth or sixth year shithead decided to gang up on and beat the living crap out of them! All three of whom, by the way, are also in the infirmary! I thrashed them like the fucking animals they are!" he held up his hand to show it covered in blood and being purple and swollen from bruising. "When I came upon them, they were about to rape the girls! What do you say to that, huh!? I sure have a lot of things to say, and I _will_ say them! But first, I'm going to give you a warning: any more Slytherins end up like that by any of your hands, and you're all going to wish you hadn't come to Hogwarts! I don't give a crap if you get into arguments in the classes or halls or breaks, that's _your_ fight! But if I hear so much as a single fucking tweet about Slytherins being ambushed and assaulted like that, I will start with the first year Gryffindors and work my way up until your House colour is a mix of black, blue, purple and yellow! Do you understand!?"

There was no response other than silence.

"I ASKED: DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND!?" he screamed at them.

There was a general muttering consensus and some nods from all around. Harry glared at them all with a boiling fury, and then stepped off the desk and stormed back out of the portrait. He left a lot of frightened first years and rattled others in his wake, but he didn't care.


	11. Chapter 11

" **A Real Man Owes Up To His Mistakes"**

 **February 1st, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry followed professor Snape who was leading him to Dumbledore's office. He was being called in for a disciplinary hearing regarding his actions the previous day. Harry was fully aware that he had stepped out of line, but then again, he wasn't the only one who had done so. The greasy–haired potionsmaster spoke the password to the gargoyle, and Harry followed him up the stairs. The two of them entered the round office, and Harry immediately noticed the people gathered.

What Harry assumed was the entirety of the Weasley family was there, with the matriarch, Molly if he remembered correctly, holding Ronald tightly. The girl, the twins, and two older boys were there as well, as was the patriarch, Arthur. Then there were a man and a woman, one on either side of Seamus Finnegan. There was a man sitting next to the third Gryffindor, Adam Bents as Harry had come to learn his name was, and finally, there was James Evans. Harry mused to himself internally. Even if they could have found his adopted mother, she couldn't have attended until the sun had set. Harry moved over towards James, but Snape held him back. Harry had a rising urge to swat the man's hand away, but he was in enough trouble as it was. His left hand's fading, purple swelling was proof of that.

"Harry, I must say, I am thoroughly disappointed in you," Albus said. "Not that I am only disappointed in _you_ ," he said as Harry opened his mouth to protest, and Albus sent strict, cold stares at each of the three Gryffindor culprits. "However, the parents of Amanda and Julie Newman have begged me to show you leniency. They have taken their twin daughters out of school for now, but asked me to extend you an invitation to their home at your leisure, so that they may thank you properly."

Harry gave the old man a stiff nod.

"That being said, the _degree_ of your… physical punishment doled out to the three perpetrators is what is the most prominent issue. I will admit, if you had merely sent them running with minor bruises, I would have let you off without a slap on the wrist."

"Albus!" Molly Weasley hissed.

"Please let me speak, Molly," Dumbledore said calmly, yet there was the distinct element in his voice that told everyone that he would not tolerate interruptions again. "I am afraid that there is only one punishment that I can give you, Harry, and it is one that I am forced to give you with a heavy heart."

Harry already understood where this was going, and the apologetic look in the old man's eyes also told him that it wasn't Dumbledore's decision; it was the School Board's.

Albus stood and walked over to him and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Mr Harry James Potter," Dumbledore said tiredly. "It is with my utmost regret that I must inform you that you are expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry studied Dumbledore's eyes, but found only sorrow. No guilt. Harry nodded and placed a hand reassuringly on one of Dumbledore's.

"I understand, sir," Harry nodded.

There was no use in fighting it. If the School Board had called a vote to get him expelled, it was ironclad, and not even the headmaster could overturn their ruling. And it wasn't the end of the world. Now he could focus on his business, at least.

"There is also the matter of the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore said as he released the boy and took a few steps back. "Since you are still in the tournament by virtue of the Goblet of Fire, we will have to make you appear at the rest of the tasks, but you will be disqualified from them as soon as they start."

"Well, at least you finally found a way around my participation," Harry smirked.

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"Finally, there is the matter of your wand."

Harry's heart skipped a beat, but he knew where this was headed.

"You want to destroy it," Harry muttered.

He caught Molly and Ronald's slightly victorious smirks, as well as those of Finnegan, Bents, and their parents.

"I have no such desire, my boy," Dumbledore shook his head, "but alas, it is my duty to make sure it is destroyed upon a student's expulsion. It pains my heart, Harry, but I have no choice."

Harry shot his wand into his hand, about to hand it over, but Dumbledore's surprised, wide eyes and his reflexive draw of his own wand made Harry react without the intent to. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore's was sailing through the air, and it was by sheer luck that Harry managed to catch it as he looked away, getting ready for it to hit him in the face. When he felt it land in his hand, he opened his eyes and saw, to his shock, surprise, and dread, the Elder Wand resting in his hand. He could feel the warm rush of the powerful artefact course up his arm and spread throughout his body, leaving him feeling pleasantly strong and mighty. His eyes flickered to Dumbledore, whom Harry could see carried the exact same feelings.

"Sir, I just reacted, please believe me!" Harry hurriedly apologised. "You drew your wand, and I–I–I–"

"Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said with a strange resignation in his voice. "I reacted to your draw, too. It is equally my fault. Take good care of it."

Harry looked at him strangely.

"I need to destroy your ebony wand," Dumbledore said. "The board never mentioned my wand."

Harry took a deep breath of resignation, and then grabbed his ebony wand with both hands, one at each end. He looked at it longingly, and clenched his eyes shut as he tensed and he heard the audible snapping sound of the wooden stick. He took a deep breath before he opened his eyes again.

"May I at least keep the pieces?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely," Dumbledore nodded. "And you may keep my wand, as well. I have a spare," he said.

While everyone around them were shocked and surprised, the pieces that Dumbledore was telling only him fell into place.

 _The Elder Wand has a bloody history, and is usually gained from murder or theft, but I disarmed him… is it that easy to win the Wand's alliance?_

Harry gently placed the Elder Wand in his holster, and stuffed the broken pieces of his old ebony wand with Rougarou hair in his pocket.

"But Albus!" Molly exclaimed loudly, clearly upset. "He still has a wand!"

"Which was never under discussion with the destruction of Harry Potter's wand," Dumbledore said calmly and walked around to sit back down in his chair. "Albus Dumbledore's wand was never mentioned."

Harry smiled inwardly, for he dare not make Dumbledore think he couldn't be trusted with the Wand. Truly, he had never considered taking it; he honestly had no interest in it. But if this was how things were going to go, then he wouldn't object to it. Especially since Dumbledore seemed to have conceded that Harry was fit to carry it.

"Harry, I wish you the best of luck in your future," Dumbledore said and nodded at him. "I hope to see you again under better circumstances."

"You as well, sir," Harry said with a nod of his own, and then looked at James.

James nodded and followed without a word as they left the office. Harry could hear Molly Weasley's disapproving ranting as the door closed behind them, but he just walked on, followed by his adopted father.

"Are you ready for more study–sessions?" Harry asked the man.

"Anytime," James replied. "I'll get the clock and meet you in your apartment tomorrow."

"Perfect," Harry said. "Thank you."

"What's the deal with that wand, anyway?" James asked. "You and Albus both looked like you would shit green pigs when you held it."

Harry looked at James with a surprised frown.

"Green pigs?"

"A Danish turn of phrase," James shrugged. "So, the wand?"

"Ever heard of the Elder Wand?"

"Yeah, it's the wand Death allegedly gave Antioch Peverell, right? The Deathstick, most powerful wand in the world, all that?"

"That's the one."

"What about it?"

Harry slipped the Elder Wand into his hand and showed it to James.

"It was in Dumbledore's possession?" James asked, curious.

"Indeed," Harry said. "He won it from Gellert Grindelwald in their famous duel in 1945."

"Interesting," James muttered. "Oh, well. In the end, it's just a wand, like any other."

"I think the whole moral of the story is that it isn't _just_ any wand," Harry said with a chuckle.

"A wand is a wand," James said and grabbed Harry, stopping the boy and turning him to look at himself. "A great wand can't make a bad wizard great, nor can a great wizard make a poor wand great. Every wand is perfect for a small handful of people because they share characteristics and build off each other as they deepen their bond. There are wands good for charms, transfiguration, the Dark Arts, and many other things, just as there are wizards that are great at certain things. It's about striking the perfect balance, which might make it seem like a wand is particularly powerful, but only when used for that specific purpose; like attracts like. Can you think what kind of magic that makes the Elder Wand powerful? Why did the oldest brother in the story want the wand?"

Harry looked off in the distance, pondering the question.

"He wanted a wand that made him undefeatable," Harry finally concluded.

"Exactly," James said. "It's a duelling wand. Sure, it may generally empower magic, I've never wielded it. But the Elder Wand is said to make it's wielder unbeatable because it's a duelling wand and is sought after by duellers; again, _like attracts like_. But like I said, _it's just a wand_. How else could Dumbledore have defeated Grindelwald if the maniac had been undefeatable?"

"You've got a point," Harry muttered and nodded. He stuffed the Wand back in the sheath.

Harry and James walked across the courtyard and onto the bridge leading to the mainland, and they headed towards the gate, from where they would apparate away.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N:**_ I think I see a Guest in the reviews I haven't heard from in a while, if the format of the review is anything to go by. If that's you, then "Hey! Been a while!" Anyway, I just wanted to address your review:

"Well, for your first review, I would say that people are fallible, and Daphne wasn't there for the agreement, so she doesn't have all the facts. Who knows, maybe she's been lied to? That's the thing with people, and something I've noticed in writing that kind of irks me, which I decided I would write in a kind of 'writing law' format:

'Unless a character is explicitly stated by the author to either be lying or show signs of deceit, they are always telling the truth and have all the relevant facts, except for a small detail that is kept by the author for dramatic upheaval at a later time'.

I think this is a bad way to write, in my honest (or dishonest?) opinion. People are _fallible_ , people don't necessarily know _even a majority_ of the facts, and people _lie_. These are facts that I take to heart, also when writing. They may not intend anything major with a lie, just a little 'white lie', but they still lie, or omit facts. And what _they_ see as true might not be what _another person_ sees, i.e. differences in point of view and opinion.

As for your second review, calm down a little, eh? Harry only **just** left the school, mate."

:D Hope you all enjoy the story!

With that, let's continue it, shall we?

 **The Trial**

 **February 3rd, 1995**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, London**

"… and then I left," Harry finished and sipped his butterbeer again.

"Imbeciles," Sirius muttered with a scowl and sipped his own.

"Well, look at it this way, Sirius," Remus interjected, his butterbeer held between his hands as he leant on the table from his chair. "Harry mauled those boys something fierce. He would have to take first priority in terms of punishment. Of course the other boys'll be punished, no doubt; not even Dumbledore would let that kind of actions slide without a severe lashing, at least verbally. But Harry lost control and raged on them."

"Moony's right, Pad," Harry said to Sirius and nodded at the werewolf. "They bullied, and only Finnegan was taking his trousers off. But I broke a leg, cracked a skull, broke a wand, and hammered Weasley's face until only his hair and process of elimination could identify him," Harry and Sirius chuckled at that together, whilst Remus couldn't supress the tiniest of smiles as he slowly shook his head.

After Sirius' trial, Harry had come over to Grimmauld Place, the Black family's townhouse in London, and talked with Sirius and Remus on occasion. Remus Lupin was another of Harry's parents' friends, and had taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts the year before Harry entered. Harry had quickly taken a liking to the two of them, and on a few weekends, he visited them and talked, drinking butterbeer and listening to their stories about Harry's parents. Harry had shown them his office before he signed The Potter Group over to Jaquelin, and the two of them had been marvelled at his achievements.

"By the way, how are things going with that werewolf legislation I've heard talk about?" Harry asked Remus.

"Not well," Remus replied and seemed a little down. "At this rate, even if people were willing to hire me, I won't be able to work fulltime."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, the gears turning in his head.

"What did you do when you joined the Order?"

The Order of the Phoenix. A group of resistance fighters Dumbledore had founded when Voldemort rose to power, who helped the Ministry with covert action and intelligence–gathering. Sirius and Remus had told him it had been disbanded when he defeated Voldemort as a toddler, and that the members had spread to the various professions.

"I was a spy, mostly," Remus said. "Gathered intelligence, wrote reports on the Death Eaters' routines, things like that."

"Hmm," Harry nodded. "I could get you a job at The Potter Group as an investigator, then," Harry said. "I'm not CEO anymore, but they all still report and answer to me as if I was. One of the perks of being a good boss," Harry smirked. "I can get you a medical certificate to explain why you have to be absent a few days a month. The Ministry can't influence the Muggles who would hire you, after all."

Remus' and Sirius' eyes both lit up.

"You'd do that?" Remus asked.

"Of course," Harry said with a smile. "You're pretty much my uncle, right?"

Remus chuckled and nodded.

"I'll do my best."

"That's all I can ask," Harry said. "You'll get a nice salary with good benefits, like dental, doctoral, things like that. You get an insurance in case you get hurt on the job, the whole package. It's one of the reasons people want to work for my firm. I take care of my own. Now, tell me more about this legislation."

Before Remus could say anything, however, a tapping noise came from one of the windows in the kitchen, and the trio all looked up. Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, sat outside with a copy of the Prophet in her talons. Remus stood up and opened the window for her. She then hopped on his shoulder, and on to the table as he sat back down. Hedwig hooted softly, and Harry chuckled and stroked her feathers gently.

"Thank you, Hedwig," Harry said and accepted the newspaper.

Hedwig hooted merrily at his ministrations, and then hopped over to the small tray of baked goods the three had shared and began nipping away at them. Harry took a few pieces and broke them into small, manageable pieces and laid them in front of Hedwig, who barked delightedly and began taking them down.

Harry then unrolled the newspaper and took a look at the front page. A big picture of a family of four was on the front, and Harry recognised the two children as the twins he had taken to Madam Pomfrey.

"Dear readers, it is I; Rita Skeeter," Harry read aloud with an amused grin. "Two days ago, on January 31st, the young, brilliant, and noble man, Harry Potter, whose very presence radiates power and prestige, came across a scene at Hogwarts School that horrified and outraged him. Dear readers, he came across the sight of three Gryffindor boys beating and assaulting two young, delicate, and beautiful Slytherin girls, merely walking to lunch from classes. Mr Potter, who had just returned to Hogwarts from the grand opening of his recently purchased shop in Diagon Alley, the Potter Apothecary, was livid and wrathful as he witnessed one of the boys about to violate the girls in the most horrific way. Our young hero, full of righteous anger, burst into the classroom and beat down the three boys who dared strike and try to defile the two innocent girls. Amanda and Julie Newman, twin girls at the tender age of thirteen and third–year students at Hogwarts, have spoken out in defence of their hero, young Mr Harry James Potter, who has been expelled from Hogwarts for the 'excessive violence' he brought down upon the Gryffindor boys (Ronald Bilius Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, and Adam Bents), who dared lay harmful hands on and attempt to violate two of our nation's delicate daughters. This decision, which our source, the wonderful Mr Harry Potter himself, describes as the work of the Hogwarts Board of Directors, was ironclad, and young Harry informs us that he holds no ill will to the Board of Directors or the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Indeed, Mr Potter informs us that he has the utmost respect for Albus Dumbledore, as he claims that the headmaster fought to allow him to remain at school. Instead, he demands that the three Gryffindor boys be brought to justice for their heinous crimes, and we at the Prophet wholeheartedly support The Boy Who Lived, as well as his decision to represent the Newman family in court at no charge in suing the families of the three aggressors for their sons' crimes against the daughters of our nation.

For the full, uncensored interview with the Newman twins and their parents, see page 3.

For more information on the Potter Apothecary, see page 7."

Harry grinned and tossed the newspaper at Remus who opened it and read himself.

"I was never really one for politics myself," Sirius said, "but that right there… that's masterful, Harry."

"I thought so myself," Harry said. I'm meeting with the Newmans three days from now, where I sign an attorney's contract with them. Then, in a few weeks' time, I take Weasley, Finnegan, and Bents to court."

"What're you going to do?" Remus asked, frowning lightly.

"I'm going to try and move the jury to let me try them as adults, though with lesser sentences. I'm not going to send them to Azkaban; they're kids. But I will do my best to put them on the stand as adults, and let them rot in a cell for a while."

"Harry, they're ch–" Remus was about to say.

"I know, Remus," Harry said. "But I also have to think about the boys' families. The Weasleys barely have _anything_. If I take Ronald to trial as a minor, his parents will have to pay for everything, and that will ruin the entire family, and I can't do that to them in good conscience. If I try him as an _adult_ , seeing as he has no money of his own, he cannot be forced to pay anything, and he gets his sentence reduced, if I can get the jury to see things my way. I'm not sure about the Bents and the Finnegans, but I still have time to figure out my plan of attack and gather information on them."

Remus' eyes widened in realisation, and then he nodded.

"I get it," he said. "You don't want unnecessary implications to the families."

"Exactly," Harry said. "The boys did something awful, no doubt, but their parents aren't to blame; from the time they're eleven, the kids spend nine months, _three quarters of the year_ , away from their families. They're bound to be heavily influenced by those they are amongst at Hogwarts. I can't blame the families for that."

"That's considerate of you," Sirius said and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. "Your parents would've been proud. Especially Lily."

Harry raised a brow at Sirius, who chuckled.

"She loved Charms and Potions, but she was savvy when it came to rules and policies, and she wanted to go into politics, as well. As a Most Ancient and Noble House, Potters can do really whatever they want, and still do politics and sit in the Wizengamot on the side. James was more than happy to let her take control of the Potter seat."

"I have a seat on the Wizengamot?" Harry asked.

"That's right, no one told you!" Sirius exclaimed. "Well, I'll fetch you next time I get summons for a Wizengamot meeting, and I'll get you through the procedure of claiming your Wizengamot seat."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Harry smiled and clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "Can you run me through the basics?"

"Sure," Sirius said and took his 'Serious Sirius' face and pose, as he liked to call it. "Every seat has a number of votes, depending on their status. Nobility gets one vote, Highest Nobility gets two, Age gets one, and Highest Age gets two. So, an Ancient and Noble House has two votes, while a Most Ancient and Most Noble has four. Noble Houses have one, and Ancient Houses have one."

"Sounds… simple," Harry said with a slight frown.

"It is, really," Sirius shrugged. "However, only a Lord, Lady, or Proxy can actually vote. Lords and Ladies are self–explanatory, but they can appoint a Proxy, no matter who they are. I'll admit, though, most Proxies are the Heirs to the Headship of the family. Take your girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass, as an example," Sirius grinned.

"Pretend–girlfriend," Harry corrected him.

"Whatever, Daphne is the Heiress to the Most Noble House of Greengrass, so she can walk into a Wizengamot session and claim to be her father's Proxy, no problem. However, another person would have to have a letter of proof to be accepted as a Proxy in the session, unless the letter states they are Proxy for longer than one session."

"But since she's Heiress, she doesn't need a letter of proof," Harry nodded. "It isn't the Wizengamot's business if the Lord Greengrass sends her in his stead?"

"Precisely. Now, at the beginning of a session, the Warlock in Chief will call for anyone to speak out if they have something they wish to declare, like accusing someone of something, appointing a new Lord or Lady, nominating a family for a seat, whatever."

"Dumbledore does that?" Harry asked.

"No, he's Chief Warlock," Sirius said with a smile. "I get the confusion. In theory, yes, it _should_ be the _Chief Warlock_ who calls the Wizengamot sessions, but the current Chief Warlock, Dumbledore, has duties as headmaster of Hogwarts, so a _Warlock in Chief_ is appointed by majority vote in the Wizengamot every six months to act in his stead."

"Mmm," Harry nodded understandingly.

"After he does that, the Wizengamot scribe will call order of business, and then we go through all pressing cases one by one, until they're all over. If there are too many, we adjourn until ten the next morning. And that's really it. I have some legal books in the family library upstairs. You're free to use the library as you wish."

"Thanks, Pad," Harry said. "There's something else I've been thinking of asking you."

"Ask away."

"Can I move in?"

Sirius and Remus both looked shocked for a little while, but then they both lit up.

"Of course! This is as much your home as it is mine, for all I'm concerned!"

Harry stood up, as did Sirius, and the two embraced for a little.

"I think I'd like to have company more often," Harry said.

"As do I," Sirius returned, tightening the hug for a little, and then releasing his godson with a bright smile. "I think this calls for a celebration. Who's up for a trip to the Leaky Cauldron?"

•••

 **February 6th, 1995**

 **London, England**

Jonathan McIrvin, a respected politician and whip of the Conservative Party, walked from an old–looking building with chipped paint falling off the façade, revealing the brick underneath in several places. His tie was loosened, his face red, and he was swaying slightly as he walked towards a silver Mercedes, however he squinted his eyes to see better in the darkness as he noticed someone leaning against it.

"The Hell're you?" he asked, burping as he finished.

"Charming," the voice of a young man reached his ears. "Almost as charming as Jade, wouldn't you say?"

McIrvin's face, despite being flushed from drink, seemed to pale.

"Who're ye?"

"No one you need concern yourself with, though I would suggest calling a taxi. You forgot your glasses inside."

McIrvin turned his head to look at the building, but stumbled a little, and turned back to look at the one leaning against his car.

"Wut'ye want?" he slurred out.

"A certain disc you keep on your person, Mr McIrvin," the boy said. "That is my price for not informing your wife and the press about your escapades at a dirty, derelict, run–down brothel with HIV, chlamydia and crab–infested prostitutes."

McIrvin snorted.

"No'un's gon' bleiver a lil' boy," McIrvin laughed and moved towards the car once more.

"But they will believe these," the boy responded and stuck a gloved hand full of photographs in front of the man's face as he was about to get in the car. "These are photographs of you and a few ladies going by Jade, Andy, Carla, and Sapphire, as cliché as two of those names are. Would you like people to know you've frequently paid Misses Hyde, Wallace, Lima, and Masterson to let you fuck them like an animal, and have picked up," the boy pulled out a small, black notebook from his coat's inner pocket, "HIV and lymphogranuloma venereum, which stems from chlamydia, from said encounters?"

McIrvin's breathing picked up, not from exertion, but from the boy's clearly extensive knowledge.

"Wut'ye wunt?"

"Like I said, I want the disc and all other blackmail material you have on Francis Underhart," the boy said. "That's all."

McIrvin's ragged breath grew even more hazardous as he drew his hand into his coat and pulled out a disc contained in a clear, plastic case, which was unmarked.

"Thiz's all. I swear," he said and placed it in the outstretched, gloved hand.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr McIrvin. Here, let me call you a taxi."

Before McIrvin could process what was going on, he was being stuffed in the backseat of a taxi. He heard the boy's voice tell the driver where to go, and saw the boy hand over a small wad of pounds to the driver.

"Get well, Mr McIrvin," the boy said and handed him a bottle of water. "Have something refreshing to drink. You could use it."

The door closed, and the taxi pulled out, and McIrvin took some deep breaths. He then opened the water bottle and drank. He almost emptied the small bottle, before he felt something was wrong. He felt a constricting of his throat and chest, and despite trying to shout, he could barely manage to wheeze. His arms were heavy, his overweight having rendered him weak, and his inebriation handicapping him even further. He started shaking and squirming, but couldn't inform the driver, who was listening to rather loud music, that something was very wrong. His sight and mind seemed to darken and fall quiet, and a single, terrified thought went through his head as he fell into darkness.

 _No… peanuts._

•••

 **February 21st, 1995**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, London**

Harry sat in the big, comfortable armchair in the Black family library, an open book resting in his lap as he read, one hand on the page ready to turn it, and the other gently stroking Hedwig's feathers, who was relishing in the careful treatment and gave quiet, pleased barks. Harry's lips turned upwards at her pleased sounds, and he turned his head to gaze lovingly upon her. His first true friend and companion. Harry hadn't once regretted purchasing her, and she was loyal, hardworking, and proud, much like himself. She was the perfect counterpart to himself. He leant over and placed a small kiss on her head, at which she rubbed her head against his face and trying to nibble his cheek lovingly. He chuckled and sat back and continued his ministrations as he kept reading.

A little while later, he looked down at his watch, and closed the book and placed it on the low table next to his chair. He then placed his hand on the armrest where Hedwig sat. She barked and stepped onto his hand, and then hopped onto his shoulder as he lifted his hand towards it. She sat comfortably as he walked out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen.

"Kreacher," he said into the hallway.

A small 'plop' sounded, and the old house–elf appeared in front of him.

"Please put some steaks and plenty of vegetables out in the kitchen," he said proudly. "I wish to cook."

"As you command," the old house–elf said and bowed lightly to him, before he disappeared with another 'plop'.

Harry and Sirius had been surprised to discover that the portrait of Walburga, Sirius' dear old mother, had found Harry to be of good breeding and almost definitely of pureblood heritage. She had insisted that Sirius, her 'failure of a disappointing son' as she called him, had actually made her proud by fathering a son like Harry.

Harry had taken great, sadistic delight in watching Sirius debate with his long–departed mother about the fact that Harry wasn't his son and how he didn't care what she thought of him. It had been fun to watch for a while, but after that, Harry had informed Walburga about his heritage as a Potter, as well as being half–blooded from his mother, though he made sure to inform the woman that some of his mother's ancestors had been wizards and witches. Sirius had been wide–eyed at that piece of information, but Harry took five minutes to talk with Walburga, who had even smiled by the end, and as Harry bid her farewell for the time–being, he had heard her screeching at Sirius to be more like Harry. That had made Harry a little smug, and he had used it to bribe Sirius into letting him decorate the house as he liked.

Harry had paid people to come and clean it incredibly thoroughly, which had taken a mere 4 days, after which he had gone and purchased furniture in a shop in London Harry knew that made custom furniture. He had bought several pieces modelled after antiques, such as tables, sofas, chairs of various kinds, and beds with some modern enhancements. Most were made of oak or mahogany, but there were a few redwood and birch pieces as well. The entire house now looked out of the Victorian era, but was as clean as it would ever be, which was to say, incredibly clean. Harry had bought new wallpaper that looked much like the old silver and green one, but was dark blue instead of dark green. Walburga had been a little miffed about the colour shift, but Harry had persuaded her to wait and see, and she actually came to like it. The floors and ceilings had been replaced with dark oak in a coat of very dark oils, which when dried, made it look almost as black as midnight. Harry had also persuaded Sirius to let electricians draw electricity through the house, and they had replaced all the oil lamps with electric lights, and had somewhat modernised the place. Sinks, baths, and toilets had been replaced, as had mirrors, closets, doors, bookshelves, and so much more. There were only three pieces of original furniture left when Harry was done; Sirius' father's desk, bed and nightstand.

Sirius had loathed his mother, but while his father had expressed his difference with Sirius' opinions, he had never outright told Sirius off for it. But Orion Black had been devoted to his wife, and so had with a heavy heart agreed to disowning Sirius. It was only after Harry found a letter addressed to Sirius in Orion's desk that Sirius learned of this. The letter had expressed Orion's sadness that Walburga and Sirius had been so at odds, and expressed how he had always regretted giving in to Walburga's decision to throw Sirius out of the family. Sirius hadn't flinched when he read it, but he had still insisted that his father's things remain. He had since taken up his father's study and bedroom, instead of his boyhood room.

All in all, the house had become exactly how Harry wanted it, and Sirius had agreed that he liked it much better after Harry's interior–designer–urge had been satisfied. Of course, it had been quite expensive and costly, especially finding wizards and witches capable of making the electricity work in the magic–permeated house, but they had made it work. It had made a fair dent in the Black and Potter vaults, but nothing that wouldn't be earned back fairly quickly once Harry's businesses really began growing.

Just as Harry entered the kitchen, he saw most of the Weasleys gathered inside, along with Dumbledore, something Harry hadn't anticipated.

"Kreacher," Harry called once more.

The house–elf appeared next to him.

"It seems I have unexpected visitors. Please put the foods into stasis."

Kreacher bowed lightly and disappeared again. Harry then took Hedwig's feet and placed her on the perch he had installed a few paces from the door.

"What can I do for you?" Harry asked and walked to the head of the table before he sat down.

"Harry, I beg of you not to take Ron to court," Arthur said pleadingly and walked over towards the black–haired boy.

Harry scrutinised the whole flock, all of whom looked scared and uneasy.

"Sit down, all of you," Harry said and gestured at the chairs closer to him at the head of the table.

It took a little before they had all settled, with Arthur and Molly closest to him.

"You do realise what you're asking of me, right?" Harry asked as Kreacher handed him an opened butterbeer, which he accepted with a quiet "thank you". "You're asking me to overlook the fact that your son assaulted two young girls, whom I have promised to help by taking legal action against _all_ the perpetrators, _including_ your son."

Arthur and Molly looked at each other, both sending a very stern look at Ron, who was sitting nearby with a severely bruised face and looked ashamed.

"Yes," Arthur said. "That's what I'm asking you."

"You're asking me to break my promise to those poor, sweet girls," Harry said, making sure to draw out the latter part.

"I am."

Harry studied Arthur closely, and then took a sip of his butterbeer. Dumbledore stood in the corner of the room, looking sorrowful, but also slightly pleadingly. He knew just as well as Harry did that the Weasleys couldn't afford court fees.

"What exactly is this about, Mr Weasley?" Harry asked. "I know you're just looking out for your son, but what are the practical reasons behind this plea?"

Arthur looked down in slight shame.

"I… I can't afford legal fees required for court."

"That's not an issue," Harry said with a wave of his hand. "I have a plan for that, not that I'm supposed to tell you even that little. I've already signed a contract with the Newmans, and as such they are protected by the client–attorney confidentiality I offer my clients. But your family won't suffer for the utterly retarded and dastardly actions of your son. I will see to that."

"Please, Harry," Arthur said. "Don't sue my son."

"You will have to make your plea to the Newmans, Mr Weasley," Harry said stoically. "My hands are tied by my contract with them. I cannot act against their wishes. If you are truly going to try, I will arrange a meeting with them as soon as possible so that you can make your plea with them, though I would suggest you go alone, or at least _definitely_ not bring Ronald to the meeting. I doubt the Newmans would take too kindly to that, far less than they would take your appearance on your own."

"I will talk to them, whatever it takes," Arthur said. "But I can't let my son be criminally charged without at least trying to make amends."

"But your son _is_ a criminal, Mr Weasley," Harry said with a small, polite smirk. "That wasn't a courtyard fight, that was _assault_ and _attempted rape_. Talk to the Newmans, but if they reject your proposal, I _will_ take Ronald to court, and I _will_ put him behind bars. That's what happens to criminals who get caught, Mr Weasley. Maybe you should have tried harder to teach your son respect, humility, and decency."

•••

 **March 8th, 1995**

 **Courtroom Five, British Ministry of Magic**

Harry sat next to the Newman family, all four of them, at a table to the side of the courtroom floor. He had several pieces of parchment and paper in front of him, and he was wearing a black pinstripe suit with a grey vest, white shirt, and a red and gold tie. Martin Newman was wearing his Sunday best robes, as was Leona Newman. Their daughters, Amanda and Julie, were wearing dark dresses and had their hair in ponytails, and there were still plenty of bruises on their arms and faces. Harry had specifically asked that they not see a healer for the bruises, and had explained how they served as irrefutable evidence in the case. Harry and Martin, who was sat directly next to Harry, were deep in hushed conversation as the courtroom slowly filled up.

"And you're sure it will work?" Martin asked with a nervous expression and sweaty palms.

"I'm very certain, but I won't lie; I could think of a couple of ways to overturn my requests. Not many, though," Harry whispered back. "And many of them, I'm not confident that the others would think to use."

Martin nodded and leant close to his wife and whispered to her. She nodded grimly, seeming much calmer than her husband, but she was also cousin to a few purebloods who had spent some time with her when she was younger. Leona was ready for what could happen, and Harry's assurance that he would pay all fees and charges, just in case they should miraculously lose the case, put her at ease. It was clear she had much more confidence in Harry than Martin did.

Soon, the defendants and their attorneys entered the room, and Harry was mildly surprised to see Dumbledore acting as defendant for the Weasleys. Harry felt a small trickle of ice run down his back.

"That… I did _not_ expect," Harry muttered, his eyes slightly widened just like Martin and Leona's. "No matter. I'll do my best. Remember; just be quiet until I tell you to speak, and don't answer any questions without my signal, alright?"

"Is this how trials usually go?" Martin asked, slightly frantically.

"Not in the Muggle world," Harry sighed and stood as the judge, Madam Amelia Bones from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, ordered for quiet.

"Criminal trial of the eighth of March, into offenses of assault and attempted rape of two thirteen–year–old witches, committed by Ronald Bilius Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, and Adam Harold Bents. Interrogator: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Court Scribe: Landon Brightly. Witnesses for the defence: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Andreas Klarke; John McThyre. Representative of the prosecution: Harry James Peverell Potter, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell–Potter."

Whilst his reveal as Lord of Houses Potter and Black had drawn a lot of eyes in his trial with Sirius, the declaration of his changed official name and the changed official name of his House drew every single eye in the room to him, almost all of them incredibly wide, and even Dumbledore looked astonished. Whispers broke out all around, and even Amelia leant in to whisper with the others for a little, nodding several times as she seemed to be answering questions, before she returned her focus to the case at hand.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley and Adam Harold Bents are charged with two counts of aggravated assault, and Seamus Finnegan is charged with two accounts of aggravated assault and attempted rape. How does the defence plead?"

Dumbledore muttered to Ronald, who stood up and uttered in a shaky voice: "No contest." He then sat down again. Klarke muttered in Bents' ear, and he stood up and said: "No contest." Finally, McThyre and Finnegan's mother both whispered with Finnegan and each other, and after a little, Finnegan stood up and said: "Not guilty."

Harry could feel Martin shake next to him, and firmly grasped the man's arm as the father was about to stand and likely shout at the boy. Harry clenched his hand hard, making sure that Martin understood that he was to do absolutely nothing, like they had talked about.

"Prosecution, please present your case," Madam Bones said and gestured towards Harry.

"Thank you, Madam Bones," Harry said and stood, buttoning his jacket as he did. He then moved around the table and addressed the court. "Honoured court of the Wizengamot, today is the day that we are going to pass judgement on a foul deed, performed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry just over a month ago by the defence; the assault and attempted rape of Amanda and Julie Newman, these two young girls," he gestured at the girls who both clung to their mother. "On January 31st, these two girls, tightest of sisters and best of friends, walked to lunch together, only to be grabbed on their way to the Great Hall. They were taken, forcibly, into a nearby, unused classroom, and thrown inside. As they tried to get up, these three _miscreants_ ," Harry gestured at the three boys, "started punching, slapping, and kicking them, taking their anger out on them. Madam Bones," he turned to the judge of the trial, "may I provide some backstory for the encounter?"

"You may," she nodded.

"As probably every single one of you know, there exists a strong rivalry between the Houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin at Hogwarts. Some are able to express this rivalry in healthy ways, such as providing competition for prestige and house points; this is a healthy way to encourage students to better themselves. However, from my own, personal experience, this rivalry is far more venomous than it was probably intended to be. I am known as The Boy Who Lived, the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord. But as soon as I was sorted into Slytherin House," there were a few murmurs, "people began to belittle, degrade, and berate me, either for being a 'snake born of lions', or 'bringing down the greatest wizard to have ever lived'. Even Ronald Weasley, one of the defendants, was one to constantly express his disappointment in me that I was in Slytherin, stepping all over my parents' graves. But this, I noticed, was not only going on with me; I saw as, all around me, young Slytherins, eager to be part of something greater, came back to the common room angry, sad, and some even closing themselves off entirely, because Gryffindors were bullying them. Chief amongst these tormentors? Ronald Weasley. So I decided to take this up, personally, and went to Madam Minerva McGonagall, the Gryffindor Head of House. I expressed to her how Slytherins were being treated, how they were made to feel like dirt simply for being sorted into a Hogwarts House. She promised that she would take it up with the Gryffindors, and all was well… for all of three days, until the incident where the crime we are addressing today occurred. You see, the punishment the esteemed Transfiguration professor had decided was appropriate for the behaviour of her House was a measly 100–house point deduction. This act, honoured court, is what led Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, and Adam Bents to assault these Slytherin girls; revenge for _100 house points_. Need I say more about the clear instability of their self–control, much less restraint? The way they reacted to a 100–house point deduction is so messed up, I don't think they're fit to be around other people at all. Therefore, honoured court, I have a request to make of you; let these teenagers be tried _as adults_."

There were several murmurs and whispers amongst the court, and the eyes of all of the defence went incredibly wide; being tried as an adult meant that they could risk going to Azkaban.

"Let them be tried as adults, _with reduced sentences_ ," Harry continued. "I have no desire to see them sent to Azkaban for this; they are still, in the end, children. However, I feel that the best way to punish these boys, not only for themselves, but others around them, would be to jail them for thirteen months in the DMLE's holding cells, with bimonthly familial visits. They cannot be allowed to go unpunished for their crimes, and for Seamus Finnegan, who also attempted rape, I suggest fifteen months with one familial visit per month, separated from the two others."

All on the defence went pale, except for McThyre, who stood up immediately.

"That's preposterous!" he shouted out. "You would condemn children to jail!? Outrageous!"

"Mr McThyre, I sug–"

"It's quite alright, Madam Bones," Harry said and held out a hand to appease her. "Yes, Mr McThyre, it _is_ outrageous… almost as outrageous as trying to rape a child."

McThyre glared at Harry, but shut his mouth and sat back down.

"Now, I cannot deny that, in the teenage years, boys tend to develop their attraction to the fairer sex, and start to feel certain… urges. I have them, and every man on the planet has had them; it's a fact that such a thing happens when boys go through puberty. But having those urges whilst beating someone? Mr Finnegan," Harry looked at Seamus with a barely concealed smirk, "I would dare go as far as to say that makes you a sadistic psychopath."

"The fuck'd you say, you prick!? I'm gonna fuck you up!"

The entire courtroom went quiet, and McThyre quickly stood up.

"Madam Bones, please strike that last part," he said as he pulled Seamus back to his seat.

"Madam Bones, did I hear that correctly?" Harry said in mock surprise. "Did Mr Finnegan just… _threaten_ me with _bodily harm_? Last time I checked… that's a felony."

"I would accuse the prosecutor of leading the witness," McThyre exclaimed.

"Leading?" Harry asked and held up his hands. "Based on my degree in psychology, which I took at the University of Cambridge, I was making a statement that Mr Finnegan generally seems to be of an instable mind and temper, Mr McThyre. I would seriously suggest seeing a therapist about his anger issues, but that isn't what we're here for." Harry turned back to look at Madam Bones. "While I will concede that Mr Weasley and Mr Bents show remorse for their actions in their refusal to contest the prosecution, Mr Finnegan shows no such guilt. As such, I would like to revise my thoughts on appropriate punishments."

Madam Bones raised her eyebrows, and then leaned forward, seemingly very interested.

"Proceed."

"Nine months of imprisonment in the DMLE holding cells with weekly familial visits, bail at 2500 galleons, and opportunity for probation after 2 months for Mr Weasley and Mr Bents, and fifteen months without familial visits, bail, or probation for Mr Finnegan." There were murmurs around the court, which Harry could hear to be somewhat agreeing. "Please keep in mind, I don't want to harm them anymore than I already have, and was expelled from Hogwarts for, but I cannot allow them to walk without justice for the girls they attacked."

Madam Bones nodded and looked down to the section where the defence sat.

"Does the defence have any statements or counters?"

Dumbledore leaned down to Ronald's ear and whispered something, to which Ronald nodded and stood up.

"I plead guilty," he said hoarsely.

Klarke and Bents looked at each other, Klarke whispered something in the boy's ear, and he also stood up.

"I plead guilty."

However, McThyre was arguing heavily with Seamus and Mrs Finnegan. Harry turned around, as if waiting, but as he faced the Newmans, he quickly smiled at them before he turned all the way around, facing the defence again. Harry glanced down at his watch as he waited, and by the time the attorney and his clients finished, the attorney sighed, palmed his face, and then stood up.

"We would like to counter with… five months of house arrest."

Every eye was on them, and Harry and Madam Bones shared the exact same look of 'you must be fucking kidding'. It seemed Madam Bones had had enough of that particular defendant, as she spoke out.

"All against the suggested ruling by defence."

Every member of the court raised their hand, and Seamus looked livid, as did his mother.

"All in favour of the prosecution's suggested ruling."

Everyone raised their hands again.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley and Adam Harold Bents, you are both sentenced to nine months of jailtime with weekly familial visits, possibility of probation after two months and with a bail of 2500 galleons. Seamus Finnegan, you are sentenced to fifteen months of jailtime in solitary confinement without possibility of probation and without bail, nor any visits."

With that, she slammed the gavel into the sound block, sealing the convictions and sentences, and coincidentally, making Harry win the case. Harry smiled and walked back over to the Newmans, who were all smiling at him. As he neared, Amanda and Julie both got up from their chairs and rushed into him, hugging him tightly as they did. Harry chuckled and rested his chin on Amanda's head… or Julie's. They were twins, and Harry hadn't spotted a difference between them yet.

"Justice is a dish best served cold," he said. "Who wants to go to Florean's?"

The two girls both nodded into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

"It's all over now."


	13. Chapter 13

**Power of the People**

 **March 9th, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

The story of the trial against the three Gryffindor boys had hit the street before the _Daily Prophet_ even had a chance to publish it. However, when the morning–issue of the _Prophet_ finally reached Hogwarts, it was welcomed with excited whispers and hushed discussions. Gryffindor was nowhere near the topic, and several students from the other Houses were sending glares at them, making them less outspoken and proud than usual. Slytherin, however, remained as quiet and stoic as always, with the exception of Draco Malfoy, who was ranting about how it served Harry right to have been expelled, completely leaving out the part that he had just won a public trial in favour of two Slytherin girls. At the age of fourteen and with Albus Bloody Dumbledore as the defence for Ron Weasley.

Daphne, Tracey, Blaise and Theo sat with each other, quietly discussing Harry's win.

"You know what this means, right?" Blaise asked rhetorically. "Potter's just made himself a little diamond in Britain. _He_ went to the _Prophet_ , _he_ won the case, and _he_ stood up for the proverbial 'little guy'. At this rate, he's going to become the next Dumbledore, with more money and less teaching."

"He's not going to become Dumbledore," Daphne shook her head. "He's too… _Slytherin_ for that. Eventually, his darker side's going to show, and when it does, he's going to do something incredibly philanthropic and brush it off as a dark moment in his life. He's not a coming Dumbledore; he's a coming Lucius Fucking Malfoy."

"You don't sound too pleased with your boyfriend right now, Daph," Theo commented.

"I'm not– I don't…" she sighed and brushed her hair back. "I don't know _what_ I feel, Theo. He's a great businessman and politician, we've seen proof of that. I just can't help but think… I don't know. He isn't as 'good' as I thought. That's all."

"You're afraid he might even become a new Dark Lord?" Tracey asked, concerned for her friend in such unusual distress.

"Maybe not entirely through intimidation and mass–slaughter, but maybe through money and politics," Daphne nodded a little. "I can't help but feel that he's setting his sights on _owning_ magical Britain. He could indebt it, crush the economy, overthrow the government… there are a hundred ways to become a dictator, and Harry looks like he's trying to become one."

"I don't think you've much to worry about," Blaise shrugged. "I don't think he wants to _rule_ Britain; he's much too concerned with his money and success to want to add that to his already–full plate. I do think, though, that we better prepare for the eventual end of him owning every shop in Diagon Alley. Who knows? Maybe we'll all be sending our kids to 'The Potter Institute for Magical Learning' when we're at that age, with potion equipment and ingredients bought from the Potter Apothecary, books from 'Potter Publication', and robes from 'Potter's Tailoring'," he smirked. "Not to mention, we'll take our kids to the 'Potter Stadium' to watch Quidditch and to 'Potter's Practical Pranks' for joke–stuff, likely run by the Weasley twins. It might not even be Diagon Alley anymore; 'Potter Pike', more like, with a toll and everything."

Theo and Blaise both sniggered at the idea, bumping fists as they did. Tracey did smile a little, but Daphne just glared at Blaise. It was clear that she didn't like the idea at all, much less thought it was joke–worthy.

•••

 **March 9th, 1995**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, London**

"Potter Publication?" Sirius asked with a laugh as he looked over Harry's shoulder. The boy was sketching rough ground plans, isles, and sections for a potential bookstore, and was currently drawing, in crude detail, a sign for the shop. "Boy, _you_ are self–absorbed!"

"I've got to make sure people know the brand and quality they're buying," Harry grumbled at his godfather as he erased another badly–drawn sign. "I won't settle for mediocrity, and I want people to know that when they visit my shops. What'd you want, anyway?"

"Dumbledore's here to see you," Sirius said and placed a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "And before you ask," he said as Harry turned his head around with his mouth open, "no; he did not bring the Weasleys. Not a single red hair in the house."

Harry closed his mouth and nodded before he laid down his pencil and stood up from his work desk. There were heaps of papers on it, as Jaquelin had started sending him weekly reports after he signed over the firm to her. He had spent hours pouring over every word of the report compiled from all the departments. Everything was going smoothly, and he had received a formal invitation to attend the opening of a new restaurant established through The Potter Group next Wednesday.

Harry followed his godfather down from the third floor, where he and Sirius slept and had their studies. Harry had been busy with many things, a few of which Sirius had helped him on. Harry appreciated the man's company and input, and they had quickly learnt each other's routines and habits. If anything, coming to live with Sirius was one of his wisest decisions over the past few years. They read together, Sirius helped with Harry's projects, and Harry helped Sirius with some things he wanted input on. They complimented each other well.

Reaching the redone kitchen, with brighter colours so that it was easier to see in the dim locale, Harry saw Dumbledore waiting patiently by the warm fireplace.

"Harry," he said with a nod.

"Headmaster," Harry nodded back.

"I would like to talk with you… in private, if possible," Dumbledore made an apologetic expression to Sirius.

"I'll excuse myself, then," Sirius said with a smile and a nod before he left the kitchen and closed the door.

"Sit, please," Harry said and gestured to the long table, which had been polished and re–treated, but remained largely the same.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, and the both of them sat down, opposite each other.

"Is this about the trial?" Harry asked.

"No, not at all," Dumbledore shook his head. "Rather, there is something – a theory, really – that I would like to inform you of. I will admit, I have been debating with myself for months whether I should tell you; it's only a theory, but it is of utmost import that I confirm or debunk it. I also thought you were too young to hear it. That you had an innocent childhood yet to live out. However, from what I have observed, which has both pleased and upset me, I think that such an old fool's hope is out of the window."

"Alright," Harry said, a little wary. "What is it?"

"A little over thirteen years ago, your parents were murdered by Voldemort," Dumbledore started. "He intimidated Pettigrew into joining him and betraying James and Lily, and then broke into your home and killed them." Harry nodded, following so far. "Then, he cast the Killing Curse at you. And to this day, the fact that you didn't die has been seen as a miracle by the public… but I think something else happened that night. Something more difficultly explained than a miracle. There is a branch of magic that dabbles in something that no one should tamper with, something that could be disastrous to the user."

"What branch of magic, sir?"

"Soul magic," Dumbledore gravely said. "The soul is a nebulous and most strange thing, Harry, and to tamper with it is something only the most foolish or most powerful and clever magicians would ever even entertain doing. However, despite the dangers and disasters just waiting to happen, there are those who have used it to great – and utterly _terrible_ – effect. I believe Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Voldemort, has used it."

"Okay…" Harry wasn't sure where this was going.

"However, another nebulous branch of magic is that of blood magic," Dumbledore continued, "yet, it is far more easily studied and practiced, even if it is by most standards utterly impossible. You mother, I know for certain, had a talent for magic, and I know for a fact that she also dabbled in blood magic. I think she used this magic, which is really quite powerful in the right hands, to protect you, through her own sacrifice. From all the evidence at the scene of her death, she did not have her wand, and she did not fight to protect you; doing so, I think, would have negated the sacrifice she intended for you to be protected by."

"She sacrificed her life for a spell?" Harry asked, his eyes darkened.

"A protection spell," Dumbledore nodded gravely. "For you. I believe it was that spell which reflected the Killing Curse Voldemort threw at you. But, this is where my theory comes in; three years ago, an important object was kept here at Hogwarts, for safety. Our resident Muggle Studies professor, Quirinus Quirrell, had _just_ returned from a tour of Europe, studying various dark creatures and magics. When he returned, however, he was very different: he stuttered, he was forgetful, jumpy, and overall, quite nervous. Much too nervous for it to be a good sign. So, I decided to let him back, and see what would happen. I had professor Snape keep a close eye on him, and soon, I discovered that he was after the object of immense value, which an old friend had decided to entrust me with. It was then that I started suspecting that he had brought something back from his tour with him, something that would make him steal said object."

"What was the object?" Harry asked.

"The Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said gravely, "an object of immense power, capable of tur–"

"–ning base metals into gold, create a panacea to cure any illness, and enable the user to brew the Elixir of Life," Harry finished. "It was supposedly made by Nicholas Flamel in the fifteenth century, but Flamel was a book–dealer, wasn't he?" Harry asked.

"Amongst other things," Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "Do the Muggles know of him?"

"Yeah, but he died back in –" and then it clicked for Harry. "He really _was_ an alchemist?"

" _Is_ ," Dumbledore corrected him with a smile. "As soon as I realised that the Stone likely wasn't safe here, as I had hoped it would be, I arranged for a temporary laboratory to be set up below the famous Colosseum in Rome, where Nicholas and Penelope brewed more of the Elixir, enough to last them a few more decades. Then, we destroyed the Stone together. They are currently in the process of making a new one, but for as long as it takes, it cannot be stolen and used by those who would abuse it."

"Good idea," Harry nodded.

"Whilst hoping not to brag too much, I thought so myself, as well," Dumbledore smiled. "That, however, bring me to the next part of the story; two years ago, we had an incident with the Chamber of Secrets. Have you heard of it?"

"Not in the context you're thinking of, I'm sure," Harry said, the corner of his lip trying desperately to move upwards against his will.

"Hmm," Dumbledore hummed. "To be young. Anyway, in the days of the Founders of Hogwarts, it was said, Salazar Slytherin had a falling–out with the other Founders about who should be taught at the school. Slytherin, according to the stories, wanted only pureblooded students to attend, those of 'clean, untainted blood'. The other three disagreed, and whilst Slytherin was planning to leave, he built a secret chamber somewhere in the school that only he and his descendants could access. Within, it was said, he placed a monster that would be unleashed on the Muggle–born by his heirs once the 'tainted' population of the school was cleansed."

"Sounds a bit extreme, if you ask me," Harry said with an unamused snort.

"Indeed. Two years ago, the Chamber was opened, and a number of students, as well as a cat, were petrified."

"Mrs Norris?" Harry smirked lightly.

"Yes, Mrs Norris," Albus nodded.

"Never could stand that cat," Harry muttered and grabbed the butterbeer that Kreacher suddenly appeared with. He then took a small sip. "She stares too much, like she's just waiting for you to fuck up."

"While I am less than pleased by your choice of words, I will admit; I do feel the same," Albus agreed. "We managed to create a cure for the petrification, but by the time we had, a girl had been taken down to the Chamber, and sadly, we never heard from her again." Dumbledore fell silent for a few moments, and Harry supposed it was to silently pay the dead girl some respect at the mention of her. "At the centre of these incidents was Ginny Weasley, Ronald's younger sister. She found a diary that had once belonged to Tom Riddle, and it seemed to… _affect_ her. She brought the diary to me after the disappearance of the girl, asking me to destroy it."

The old wizard then reached a hand inside his robes, and pulled out a dark–covered diary with faded, gold letters pressed into the front. _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ , it read.

"Please touch it," Dumbledore said at Harry's shocked face. "I promise you, it is safe. Young Ginevra made the mistake of thinking the diary to be a friend, and so she poured her heart and feelings into what she wrote in it. She unknowingly gave the magic of the book access to her mind and body as she spent months writing in it."

Harry hesitated, studying the book thoroughly, but he then reached out and touched it. As soon as he did, a blinding light exploded inside his eyes, and he felt a pain surge through his head.

 _ **HARRY POTTER!**_ a voice, deep, booming and _furious_ , screamed in his head, and he instantly let go of the book.

"The Hell was that!?" he exclaimed and jumped away, getting to his feet. His bottle of butterbeer had fallen to the ground and shattered when he wasn't looking. "That – FUCK – argh!" he clutched his head as the pain was only very slowly fading.

"Harry!?" Dumbledore had gotten up as well when Harry wasn't looking, his face set in deep, genuine concern. "Harry, what is wrong!?"

"The book…" Harry muttered as the pain subsided to a dull ache in the back of his head. "It… it was mad… angry – no – furious," he muttered. "It… screamed my name at me."

Dumbledore's concern faded and gave way to sorrow and resignation. Clearly, he still knew something Harry didn't.

"What aren't you telling me?" Harry asked sternly.

"The kind of soul magic Voldemort explored creates an artefact known as a Horcrux," Dumbledore said. "I wasn't certain of it until now… your reaction to the diary all but confirms it."

"How does a violent reaction to pain make _anything_ certain?" Harry grumbled.

"Because it confirms a fear that I have tried my hardest to deny," Dumbledore suddenly looked twice his age, and sat back down in his chair, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. "Harry… the diary is a Horcrux, an artefact which contains a piece of Voldemort's soul, and as long as a wizard has Horcruxes, they cannot pass on from this world. They gain a form of _pseudo–immortality_. And, according to the theories I have discovered and which I have formed myself, they react strongly… when they come into proximity with one another."

Harry's stomach dropped, and his mouth dried. He knew exactly what Dumbledore was saying. Harry's hands clenched into fists, har enough to make his knuckles turn white and his nails to leave indentations in the back of the wooden chair he was holding on to, but he released all tension from his body.

 _No use getting worked up over the past. It can't be changed._

"I'm a Horcrux," Harry stated, his eyes boring into Dumbledore's, which were wet with tears. Harry's own eyes had turned cold as the grave and hard as steel. "As long as I live, Voldemort can't die."

Dumbledore nodded, and placed a hand over his eyes, and leant on his elbow on the table. He didn't sob, and he didn't shake, but Harry knew that he was not, in any way, faking the tears and the sorrow. Harry sighed, and bowed his head, his mind running at a thousand miles an hour.

"You said Horcruxes are pieces of a soul," Harry finally said, his icy demeanour taking back control of his mind. "What is the effect of two souls in one body?"

"That's impossible," Dumbledore said, not taking his hand away from his eyes, and his voice sounding far more tired than Harry had ever heard it before. "Either the stronger soul would expel the other, or consume it. From what I know, at least."

"So then, it's only a small piece in me?"

"I think so."

"Then I will just have to expel it."

Finally, Albus looked up from his hand, his eyes bloodshot and wet.

"What?"

"I will fracture my soul," Harry said, as if it were a matter of fact. "Then, I will force the piece out. I'm sure James could teach me a way to get in touch with my soul… somehow."

"Harry, fracturing your soul means you need to commit cold–blooded murder, completely for your own gain."

"If Voldemort is kept alive by these things, and that diary seemed like it wanted to kill me, I'm fairly certain that means he wants to kill me," Harry said icily. All jest was thrown out the window. "Hell, he came after me when I was a _toddler_. If I kill to be able to kill Voldemort without killing myself, I think that would be for my own gain."

Harry then turned around and headed towards the door.

"Harry, where ar–"

"To fracture my soul," Harry said, and left without another word.

Dumbledore was rooted to his chair, and fresh tears rolled out of his eyes. What he had just seen… he could barely fathom it. Was the Horcrux inside the boy so strong that it could make Harry feel the same way Tom did? That he could just walk out and coldly murder someone?

 _Lily… James… I am… so,_ _ **so**_ _sorry._

•••

Harry stormed out of the front door, his face set in stone and his eyes cold and guarded. He snapped the Elder Wand from the holster and into his hand with a flick of his wrist, and he walked off. It didn't take long to reach the nearby park, where he spotted a couple of young adults sitting on a bench. He was thankful it was dark, yet that would only make the spell he was about to cast, twice it would seem, all the more noticeable. The couple were chatting merrily, the man's arm around the woman's shoulders, and they shared a brief kiss. Something in Harry's chest stirred, and the hand holding the Elder Wand shook, ever so slightly.

 _You can do it, come on! You've already killed, you coward! COME ON!_

Harry steeled his heart, and walked up to the pair.

"Excuse me, could you do me a favour?" Harry asked, his face and voice void of all emotion.

"Sure, kid," the man smiled at him.

The unpleasant pressure in his chest grew stronger and stronger, but then he took a deep breath, the two young adults looking at him with kind, gut–wrenching smiles, that was almost making him reconsider his decision.

Almost.

"I need you to die for me," Harry said and raised the Wand, the tip glowing ever so faintly green. "Avada Kedavra."

A rush of air brushed through the park on the windless night as a green light flew from the Wand and struck the man in the chest, making him instantly go slack and slump back on the bench, his young body, once housing a life with most likely a bright future ahead of him, completely void of anything. The discomfort in Harry's chest rose to unbearable heights, but he then pointed the Wand at the woman, who had just realised what had happened to her boyfriend. Another rush of air and a green light reached her before she could manage to scream, and her body, too, slunk over, like the strings of a marionette suddenly being severed.

Harry let out a shaky breath. The cold night air did nothing to him, but he was shaking all the same, and his hand clenched around the Elder Wand was pale from the strength of his grip. He slowly lowered his hand, and he took in the sight before him; two dead bodies on a bench, holding each other like only lovers would. Had his parents died the same way? The same, green light and rush of air from a non–existent breeze, and they had passed away with each other.

A single tear pushed its way out of Harry's left eye as he stared at the couple, letting the cruelty of what he had just done to them sink in; he had potentially robbed them of a long, happy life together. Statistics of divorce and separation of couple flew out of his head, and in their stead, he could only imagine the bright future they could have had, loving each other and their child. For a brief moment, the couple were replaced with a red–haired woman with bright, green eyes and a man with hazel eyes, spectacles, and unruly, black hair. The child between them had unruly, black hair as well, but with the same bright, green eyes as the woman, and they all smiled without a care in the world, just enjoying each other's company. More tears escaped Harry, until he arrived at a realisation.

 _Dreams like that… they don't come true._

The mental image shattered into a million pieces, and the tears stopped. Harry's previously pained visage fell into a cold, stony mask, and he stopped shaking.

 _Voldemort robbed me of everything. Everything I had, everything I_ _ **could**_ _have had. I'm not going to let anyone take anything away from me… ever again_.

Harry turned around and headed back towards the Black townhouse.

 _I am my own man, and I will do whatever it takes to remain my own man. I will climb Mt Everest in the nude and I will murder a school of children using plastic spoons. I will strangle a fucking infant with its own umbilical chord if I have to. I am Harry James_ _ **Fucking**_ _Potter… and I will bow to neither man, woman, or God._

Harry could practically feel his heart calcify in his chest. No smirk, no devilish grin, no laugh. Just… ice and stone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Preparations for War**

 **April 21st, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry made his way through the corridors of Hogwarts, drawing every eye as he went along. He was walking in his business suit, topped with a black coat and trilby, making his way towards the Headmaster's office. He wore a blank face, not deigning any of the students with as much as a glance. He soon made it to his destination and gave the gargoyle the password. It jumped aside, and Harry stepped on the stairs, letting it take him to the top. He didn't bother knocking and just walked into the room.

Inside, he found Dumbledore talking with the Minister, Fudge, and a woman Harry recognised from the trial with Sirius, clad entirely in pink. Kingsley Shacklebolt and that auror, Derlish or whatever his name was. Lucius Malfoy was also in the room, his wife Narcissa beside him. It was a good thing Harry had prepared for this meeting.

"Harry!" Cornelius exclaimed as he turned to see who had entered. "So good to see you again, m'boy!"

Harry expertly and swiftly adopted his most politely charming smile.

"You as well, Minister," Harry said and shook the man's hand as it was offered. "I presume this is everyone that has anything to say about my re–enrolment to Hogwarts?" he said and glanced about.

"Yes, we didn't want to gather an entire court for this kind of… trivial pursuit," Fudge said with a smile.

Harry nodded, and looked at Lucius.

"Malfoy," he said softly with a slight, polite bow of his head.

"Potter," Lucius returned with the same gesture. "Before we begin, I would like to extend my… apologies," he seemed to have a hard time uttering that word, much to Harry's hidden amusement. "My wife and I have disciplined my son for his behaviour towards you before you were expelled."

"Please," Harry waved it off. "He spends nine of twelve months of the year separated from you. He is bound to get his own ideas. I just hope that he will become more like you, Lord Malfoy. I will admit, I have heard… less–than–stellar rumours about you, but I prefer seeing things for myself before I put faith in the whisperings of lessers."

"Thank you, Lord Potter," Lucius bowed his head a little. "Should you have time, it would be my family's honour to host you for a more formal apology at our estate."

"I will take it into consideration," Harry said, and turned to Dumbledore. "So, what is this I hear about Hogwarts trying to get me back?"

"The Board of Directors have faced severe backlash from the public against your expulsion for the measures you took in punishing the Gryffindor boys," Dumbledore said calmly. "Mr Malfoy, being on the Board itself, has talked the majority of the Board into annulling your expulsion. If you wish, you may return to Hogwarts as a student."

Harry sent a polite smile and nod at the Malfoys, who returned it.

"I do have two conditions for my return," Harry said, "pertaining to my duties as owner of Potter Apothecary and as a member of the Wizengamot. I require the permission to leave the school's grounds at any time to deal with situations that may occur with a business I own or to attend emergency meetings at the Ministry, with permission to bring along Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis, in case I should require their assistance."

"Of course," Lucius said before Dumbledore could say anything. "Seeing as I have similar duties, I will personally ensure that the Board understands these terms."

"Thank you, Lord Malfoy," Harry said with another smile. "You are most understanding." He then turned back to Dumbledore. "The second is that I am excused from lessons whenever I want, and that my adopted father, James Evans, may enter and leave the school at his leisure to come and educate me privately. After all, I need to be prepared for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, seeing as I will enrol once more, though I will retain that right even after the tournament ends."

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "I understand your preference to James' tutoring. He taught you your entire childhood, no?"

Harry nodded.

"I see. Then, I will agree to these terms of yours. I suppose you can easily move your things back into your old room?"

"I have them on my person right now," Harry nodded. "There is just the thing about my old wand… since my expulsion is annulled, am I free to… find someone to repair it, _if possible_?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore nodded, catching the vague reference Harry made. "I would personally see if there is some _elder_ of _wand_ craft… perhaps they could manage it?"

"Then, I will return to Hogwarts," Harry said with a deep exhale. "Is the schedule still the same?"

"It was changed after Christmas, but I will ensure that professor Snape gives you the updated schedule."

"Good," Harry said, and then looked at the two Malfoys. "Mr and Mrs Malfoy, could I inconvenience you for a private meeting in a nearby classroom?"

"Of course," Lucius nodded. "Lead the way."

"Then, Headmaster, Minister, I will take my leave," Harry lifted his trilby in greeting at the two, and turned around.

•••

Harry held a door open as Lucius and Narcissa made their way inside a disused classroom. Harry then closed the door and, using the Elder Wand, cast some privacy wards that Sirius had taught him on it, allowing them to speak freely in private.

"Mr and Mrs Malfoy, I want to make one thing absolutely clear to the two of you," Harry said icily and turned around, the Elder Wand still in his hand. "I have no intention of hurting you or killing you, or anything like that… so long as you do not turn back to Voldemort if he should ever return."

Lucius and Narcissa both looked surprised and astonished, but Lucius' right hand moved towards the handle of his black cane. Suddenly, the cane flew out of the man's gloved hands, and landed in Harry's gloved left hand.

"I am only taking precautions, Lord Malfoy," Harry said at the look of outrage on Lucius' face. "I know you were a Death Eater back in the war, but I implore you; leave the corps, leave that behind… and I swear that you will be under my protection, your son included. But I will never trust you as long as you are a servant of Voldemort."

Lucius sneered at Harry.

"And why should we believe you?" he asked menacingly. "The Dark Lord killed your parents."

"I don't care what he did," Harry said coldly. "If he intends to interfere with my life, then I will put him in the ground, one shovelful of dirt at a time. But I will not hunt him down. Hell, if he honestly leaves me alone, I will return that favour. But until you leave the Death Eater life behind, we have nothing more to say to each other."

Harry then tossed the cane back to Malfoys Sr, who caught it with his right hand, but he didn't move to draw the wand Harry suspected was hidden in it. Rather, he seemed to study Harry quite closely. Harry quietly walked backwards out of the room, and then reached into his pocket. Pulling out the pieces of his old wand, he held out the hand holding them, and pointed the Elder Wand at the pieces.

" _Reparo_ ," he muttered, and watched as the broken wand instantly reattached itself, and gave off a few, blue sparks.

He smiled and stuffed the Elder Wand into the mokeskin pouch, as he had discovered his purse with practically endless depth was called. He then waved his old, ebony wand, and felt a surge of icy cold, followed by pleasant warmth, rush through his arm and into his body. He waved it at a nearby chair, which instantly fell apart. He then waved it again, and the chair pulled itself back together as if nothing had ever happened to it. Harry smiled as he walked away, sliding the wand into his wrist holster.

He soon reached his old room in the Slytherin dormitories, drawing a lot of confused and awestruck looks as he did. He immediately took off his coat and hung it on the coat–hanger he had installed, and then looked around. It was almost as he had left it, only the clothes and books were all missing. Knowing his work was cut out for him, he pulled off his suit jacket as well, rolled up his sleeves, and drew his wand.

 _Best get to it._

•••

Hours later, the room had been magically expanded, and there were desks, chairs, and bookshelves filled with a variety of tomes, from both his own pile, a number of books from the Potter family vault, and a few from the Black family library. His bed was expanded by a metre, and he had laid down Persian carpets. It was ten times more lavish than last he had lived in there, and easily twenty times bigger on the inside, but Harry was happy with his work. He had studied magic religiously with Sirius and James when he wasn't taking a break, and he had learned most of the fourth– and fifth–year material, and was moving on to sixth. Sirius had waxed lyrical about how talented Harry was at magic, and James had been quiet and nodded with a pleased smile, like he always had.

Harry placed his wand in the wrist holster, which was placed on one of the desks. Three of the six desks had a name plaque on them, reading 'Blaise Zabini', 'Tracey Davis', and 'Daphne Greengrass', and they were placed so that they could use the four desks, Harry's own amongst them, as a meeting table and face each other. There was one desk with stacks of parchment and some biros on it for drawing and writing, a desk with some more esoteric–looking items on it that he could use to practice the alchemy James taught him, and a desk with a cauldron and potion–making tools on it, above which were several shelves with clear glass jars with labels, containing ingredients just in arm's reach.

All in all, Harry was incredibly satisfied with his work. He then started undressing and placed his clothes in a hamper which the house elves of Hogwarts would make sure to wash, and he went to take a bath. When he walked back out almost twenty minutes later, he had only the black towel wrapped around his hips and another towel in his hand which he used to dry his hair, when he saw each of the three of his future employees sitting at their respective desks. Blaise and Tracey were smiling quite widely, and Daphne had a small smile as well.

"Welcome back," Daphne quietly greeted him.

Harry stopped and stared at her for a few seconds, before he broke into a smile and walked over to her. Before she could ask what he was doing, he leant down and captured her lips in a chaste, but heartfelt kiss. After a few seconds, he stood back up and smiled brightly at her.

"I went through some dark shit while I was away, and that made me realise what a bloody idiot I am," he said and placed a hand on her cheek. His eyes glinted merrily as he looked down into her own eyes. "I'm going to marry you, and I'm going to make sure you never regret it."

He then leant back down and kissed her again, more deeply, and in stark contrast to the other times he had kissed her, Daphne felt him relax and really, really kiss her. It was so different from the other times he had kissed her, and she couldn't help but lean into it and place a hand on his chest.

"Hm–hmmm," Tracey cleared her throat with an amused smile on her lips. "As much as I enjoy the show and would like to keep watching," Daphne blushed and tore away from Harry to glare at her, which made Blaise and Harry laugh, "what's going to happen now?"

"We start building the magical Potter Group right here," Harry said and gestured at the desks. "We've been very loose about the whole business affair, but that ends now. Now, we go to the real stuff. Daphne, I want you to begin research for how many ingredients and which we can grow here in Britain, as well as look into prime locations for farms for ingredients that can only grow in the Mediterranean. Start looking into possible competition elsewhere in Britain, too." Daphne nodded. "Blaise, I need you to begin compiling a list of attorneys, solicitors, and all that in Magical Britain. Like with Daphne, make sure to look into competitors." Blaise nodded as well. "Tracey, I'd like you to join me for study sessions with my adopted father. He's beginning in teaching me basic enchanting, and while I work on the basics, I'll get him to teach you the more advanced stuff. Otherwise, just keep up your studies."

Tracey nodded excitedly at the prospect of working with Harry's adopted father. She had seen what Harry had learnt from the man for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, in which Harry used magics none attending had seen before. If he was as god with enchanting as whatever he had taught Harry, Tracey was certain she could learn an ocean's worth of enchanting from him. Maybe she could even become a Master Enchantress and Runemaster from studying under him.

"We'll reconvene here every Sunday afternoon to make a report of what progress we've made in the week, and you're all welcome if you want to spend some time, just because."

Harry stretched out his hand, and the refrigerator he had bought, which was energised by ambient magic, opened, and four butterbeers flew out of it, one landing neatly in front of each of the other three, who all looked astonished. Harry smirked and opened his bottle, and then held it up.

"To the future!"

"The future!" the others repeated with smiles, and they all took a swig.

•••

 **May 1st, 1995**

 **London, England**

A charity ball was being held in a small venue in central London, which of course meant that there were easily two or three hundred people there. The Potter Group had partnered with a local charity foundation for helping needy families and communities in Africa. Anyone who was anyone in London and the surrounding country attended, which of course meant that two teenagers were attending as well.

Harry stood in a completely black suit, his arm supporting that of Daphne who was wearing a black dress, similar to the one Tracey had worn for the Yule Ball. She was also wearing a black, short–sleeved blazer on top of it. While both their faces were set in their usual masks, they did occasionally send small smiles at each other, and Harry occasionally found his hand moving to the other side of her waist and gently press her closer to himself. Whenever he did, she subtly leant into him with a hand on his. He couldn't help himself when he placed a kiss to the side of her head, making her smile a little wider and blush. Fortunately, they were almost done with greeting the guests, as Harry was the founder of The Potter Group, and as such, he felt he had a responsibility to greet every single guest, all of whom were excited to meet him.

Except… for the next guests.

A large, fat man with a giant moustache who could easily pass for some kind of marine animal, and less–than–healthily–skinny woman with a giraffe–like neck and a face almost as long as that of a horse, came by, with boy about Harry's age, who almost rivalled his father's size, and wore a dissatisfied look. The man was dressed in a suit far too small for him and in a horrifying mustard–yellow and sh*t–brown colour, the woman wore a 70's sundress, and their son wore baggy jeans and a shirt that was a little too tight.

Worst of all, from all his research into his family, Harry knew exactly who they were.

"Would you look at that?" Vernon Dursley said venomously. "The freak–child is all grown up. I bet your parents' freakishness let you have a loophole, hmm?" he asked, beet–red in the face and his eyes clenched close.

"If by that you mean that Harry is the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, one of the oldest, wealthiest and powerful families in our _freakish_ society, and his being the most intelligent fourteen–year–old to have ever lived, then yes," Daphne said icily. "Yes, his parents' freakishness had something to do with it."

Petunia's eyes widened, as did Vernon's.

"You're one too?" Petunia asked.

"Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Most Noble House of Greengrass," she said, slightly mockingly. "And it is _not_ my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Who do you even think you are, insulting Harry like that at a _charity ball_ of _his_ organisation?"

"They're _family_ ," Harry almost spat the word, as if it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. "My mother's Muggle sister, Petunia, who grew up jealous of my mother's gifts, _and_ beauty," he noted as he looked the woman over. "And her husband, Vernon Dursley, who is director at Grunnings, a drill–making company in Surrey. I'm honestly astonished that someone running a _drill–company_ could afford the invitations to this ball, _Uncle_ Vernon," Harry said.

"Watch your mouth, boy," Vernon said and stepped closer, trying to be menacing. "You might hurt yourself."

"I doubt it," Harry smirked, and then held up his hand in front of Vernon's face. "Since I can do this."

He snapped his fingers, which instantly lit on fire right in front of Vernon's face. Vernon shrieked and stumbled backwards, into Dudley, who bumped into another guest, a woman of clearly high standing, judging by the fact that she was talking with Minister Fudge. She scowled and with a quick, silent wave of a wand she incredibly swiftly hid after she had used it, sent Dudley tumbling back into his father, though the older man was far too big to be moved.

"You see, _Uncle_ Vernon, almost half of the people here are _freaks_ like Daphne and I," Harry said with a vicious smile. He walked around the family of Muggles, over to the woman who was talking with Fudge.

"Harry m'boy!" the man exclaimed and eagerly shook the boy's hand. "So good of you to invite us to your phenomenal event. I must admit, while we have bigger parties amongst only ourselves, this is the finest I have seen from Muggles."

"Thank you, Minister Fudge," Harry said and sent a glance at Vernon who swallowed audibly. "Always a pleasure to be in the company of the leader of our esteemed nation." Harry then turned to the woman. "I'm sorry for my pig–headed cousin's behaviour, please forgive me. My Muggle family is quite loathing of our magical powers and society, and I do think it was quite a shock for them to realise that they were surrounded by us _freaks_ , as they call us."

"Do they now?" the woman said darkly and sent a glare the family of three, all of whom seemed to shrink just a little, especially Dudley who was also blushing heavily. "Well, I accept your apology, Lord Potter," she said, making sure to gently take his hand and place a kiss on his cheek. "It would serve the Muggles well to realise that you are a hero, rather than a freak."

"Thank you," Harry said, and then bid the two farewell as he moved back to Daphne, who was receiving looks of desire from Dudley. A flame flared in Harry's chest as he noticed it. "Dudley, if you keep looking at my girlfriend like that, I will transfigure you into a frog, literally." Dudley stepped behind his mother at that. "Enjoy the evening, Dursleys," Harry said with a devilish smirk, "seeing as you are surrounded by my own kind."

Vernon seemed like he wanted to teach Harry a lesson, but as soon as Harry flicked his wand into his hand, he seemed to find other thoughts, and dragged his family along with him. They had held up the final three pairs who were attending, though the three of them were all wizards and witches, and had watched with amusement as Harry schooled his Muggle, magic–hating family. Harry and Daphne happily greeted the final couples, and then, they stood and watched the masses of people mingle.

"Thanks," Harry muttered into Daphne's ear. "For backing me up."

"We're partners," she said and placed a small kiss on his cheek. "We support each other."

Harry smiled at her, and then captured her lips as he held her tight.

"God I was an idiot," Harry said between kisses. "I should've let you in right away."

"I'm glad you finally did," she returned as she finally pulled away.

•••

Later in the evening, Harry and Daphne finally made it back to the Slytherin common room after Harry almost had to physically drag Daphne away from cursing the Dursleys as they began acting rather… inappropriately, insulting almost everyone they came across because they believed everyone was a witch or wizard, and they had made more than a few comments about Harry and Daphne to the other guests they believed were normal. Little did they know, most of the ones they thought normal were actually wizards and witches, who made sure to inform Harry and Daphne of the comments made about them. Harry had honestly found it endearing, but also had to look out for his firm's image, and was thus forced to make sure she didn't get anywhere near the Dursleys.

"I bloody hate them," she scowled as they entered the common room.

"I know, Daph," Harry chuckled. "You've said it at least two dozen times this evening."

"And to believe you would have ended up with them if your father hadn't taken you away," she muttered angrily. "Who does Dumbledore think he is!?"

Harry had confided in Daphne about the exact circumstances he would have found himself in, seeing as the Dursleys were suddenly very real to him.

"He only wanted what was best," Harry said calmly, and dragged her over to a loveseat where he pulled her down and held her close. "He would've ensured that I would at least be safe from Voldemort."

"I just don't get it!" Daphne said. "You talk about him as if he's still alive!"

Harry sighed, and rubbed her shoulder as he internally discussed with himself if he should tell her or not.

"We're not sure," Harry said. "We think he has some way back from the dead, or that he at least never crossed far beyond the doorstep there. He's a dark wizard who pioneered the Dark Arts, we have no idea what he is or was capable of."

Daphne sighed and leant into his chest.

"I'm just glad you ended up well," she said tiredly. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Pft, wow!" Harry laughed. "That's _very_ forward of you!"

"Prat," she muttered and lightly slapped his cheek. "You know what I mean."

"… sure," he muttered with a small smile, and then helped her to her feet.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Darkness Inside**

 **May 13th, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry waved his hand over the broken matchstick, a look of utter focus and concentration on his face, and a vein popping in his left temple.

"You keep that up, you'll end up constipated," James said as he sat on a nearby desk, watching his adopted son with crossed arms and an amused smirk.

"Shut up," Harry practically whispered as his eyes never wavered from the matchstick.

James did indeed remain quiet, and his smirk just widened as the halves of the broken item slowly moved towards each other. Harry then sucked in a deep breath of air and poured his all into the magic he was trying to work, his eyes widening and face darkening as he slowly ran out of oxygen, but he wouldn't stop as the wooden stick slowly mended back together. James leant forward, his eyes glued to the matchstick as the tear where it had been snapped vanished, and Harry let out a deep, quick sigh and began panting as he threw himself back into the chair, the broken matchstick lying whole on the desk in front of him. He began breathlessly laughing, and James smiled cheerily.

"That's a big step, kid," the old wizard said proudly. "I doubt many old wizards can do even that little."

Harry's laughter gained in volume, until it died down very quickly. James' own smile faltered at the sudden change in demeanour.

"What? What is it?"

Harry looked up at James, a curious expression on his face, but then he smiled again.

"Nothing," he said, and looked back down at the matchstick.

James' eyes remained on Harry, but he didn't push it any further. A small chill ran down his spine, and he had no idea why.

•••

Harry practically skipped down the hallways and stairs of the castle until he reached the Great Hall, just in time for dinner. James had stayed behind to prepare for the next day of lessons, which consisted of a little more alchemy. Harry reached the Great Hall and immediately headed over to the Slytherin table and plopped down next to Daphne. Before she could even greet him from her book, he lightly grabbed her chin, turned her head to face her, and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her lips. She stiffened beneath his touch, but then relaxed a little into it. When he released her, she slapped him on the shoulder.

"Not in public, you prat," she muttered and adopted her usual, icy visage, though the corners of her mouth threatened to rise, if their twitching was anything to go by.

"Right, Ice Queen of Slytherin," Harry said reverently, and made a half–hearted imitation of a Muslim on a prayer carpet. "Oh, mighty and fearsome Lady of the Cold."

"I hate you," she muttered, but this time she couldn't force the smile all the way down.

"I hate you too," he muttered and kissed her on the cheek before he began shovelling food onto his plate and dug in with gusto.

Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise all looked at each other with surprised expressions. Harry never ate more than just enough to sate him, and he always kept a certain balance between bread, lean meat and vegetables. Now… he was eating mashed potatoes, thick sauce, bacon, ham, and no vegetables or bread in sight… not to mention that it was at least twice the amount that he normally ate.

"Uhhh… Harry?" Tracey asked, she and Daphne exchanging slightly worried glances. "You, uhhh… you alright?"

"Never better," Harry said with a full mouth, completely disregarding proper eating–etiquette… which he always observed religiously.

Harry chewed his food quickly, and then shovelled another mouthful inside, but as he was in the middle of chewing it, his chewing slowed down, slower and slower, until he stopped, and the smile vanished from his face. He then sat and quietly stared at his plate full of food, making all three of his friends worried.

"You sure?" Blaise asked.

Harry sent a _glare_ in Blaise's direction, catching them all off–guard.

"Of course I'm sure," he said condescendingly, and then threw down his fork, stood, and quickly left the table again, leaving his friends to look after him and at each other with worried expressions.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Tracey asked.

"I haven't the faintest," Daphne said and looked after her boyfriend, who disappeared around the frame of the door to the Great Hall. "He's been a little off lately, though."

"How?" Blaise asked.

"I mean… his mood's been… I don't know. It's been unpredictable."

"When did it start?"

"It's been like this ever since he came back to Hogwarts," Daphne said. "I need to see Mr Evans. Maybe he knows what's going on."

With that, Daphne rose as well and grabbed her bag before she left the Great Hall.

•••

"Mr Evans?" Daphne called through the door after she knocked.

"Come in," she heard the reply from inside.

Daphne opened the door and walked into the abandoned classroom set up for Harry and James with Dumbledore's permission. James had even tutored Daphne a little in Potions when she came by a couple of times over the past two weeks, and she knew that Tracey loved studying enchanting under him. Daphne had definitely enjoyed her tutoring as well, especially when compared to Professor Snape. The room was decorated with many glass jars filled with various things, and had bookshelves Harry had told her were filled with books from the Black family library, the Potter vault, and from his adopted mother's own personal library.

Harry rarely talked about the woman, but he usually smiled when he did, and it was clear to Daphne that Harry loved her very much. But, he was very vague when describing her to others, mostly using words like intelligent, wise, clever, and other words that could be used to describe the word 'brilliant'. Whenever Daphne asked her when she could meet her, however, Harry skirted around the subject, usually by beginning an explanation, only to lead her aside on a tangential line of conversation, something the famous boy was infuriatingly good at.

"Ms Greengrass," James said with a smile. "How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you knew what was going on with Harry, sir," Daphne asked after she closed the door behind her. "He's been acting strangely ever since he came back to Hogwarts."

"Has he?" James asked, but he didn't seem the slightest bit surprised. "Well, I'll have a talk with him. Thank you for bringing your concern to me, Ms Greengrass. And I'm no 'sir', young lady," James smiled again. "I'm not your professor, nor have I ever been knighted."

"I'm sorry, s– Mr Evans."

"It's quite alright," James said. "I suppose calling adults 'sir' and 'professor' is something you get used to. I'll talk to him, don't worry."

Daphne nodded, and then walked out of the room. When the door was closed, and James was certain he was alone once again, he walked over to something covered with a blanket and took off the covering. Inside the glass jar underneath was a dark grey, smoke–like substance whirling about, prodding against the glass as if looking for a way to escape. It had brightened considerably since it was first put into the jar, at which point it had been black as ink. It rolled around lazily, almost like a grindylow trying to conserve its strength. James' face darkened considerably as he remembered the procedure in removing the _thing_ from Harry's body. The blood–curdling screams the young man had let out had threatened to break James' heart, watching his adopted son and descendant writhing in agony, his face covered in sweat and his face contorted in unimaginable pain as he was strapped by iron shackles to a table made of granite to keep him still. James' eyes began twitching as he had seen the black liquid emerge from Harry's eyes, nose and mouth, after which it evaporated into the black smoke James had sealed into the jar, all over which were hundreds of miniscule engravings of many strange symbols, symbols visible only under a microscope. James' jaw tightened, and he was seriously tempted to unleash an unhealthy dose of Fiendfyre to rid the world of the shard of Voldemort's soul… but James had been careful to observe the effects Harry were experiencing after the operation.

At first, Harry's mood had simply become a great deal brighter, as had his general attitude. James had never seen the boy smile so much, or even half as sincerely. James had been optimistic… until the day before Harry's meeting in Dumbledore's office. Harry had taken one glance at the letter summoning him to the meeting, and he had roared and screamed, flinging curses and hexes against the walls and furniture of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. After a solid ten minutes of raging, he had calmed down in less than thirty seconds, and had shrugged and repaired everything he had broken, before he took the letter and went back to his room. The mood swings had only gotten worse from there on. Harry had undergone two nervous breakdowns while James taught him Potions and curses, and then only minutes later, had happily read through _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , something that would revile most wizards and witches. James had carefully observed Harry, and he hadn't liked what he had found.

James drew his wand and flicked it, at which a silver–white light shot out of it, and rushed out of the window, right through the glass pane.

•••

"You wanted to see me?" Harry asked as he peeked his head through the door opening of the classroom they used.

"I did," James said, and gestured at the desk Harry always sat at. "Have a seat."

Harry walked over and cautiously sat down, but then smiled and visibly relaxed.

"There's something I need to tell you, and an offer I want to make you," James began. "It's very important that you listen to everything I say, so please don't interrupt me."

Harry's smile immediately faded, and nodded very cautiously again. James stared Harry in the eyes for a little while. Then, he sighed.

"You're severely bipolar, Harry," James said. "And you're schizophrenic."

Harry looked at James seriously, but then sniggered, which evolved into a chuckle.

"Okay, I'll admit, I hadn't expected that," Harry said with amusement.

"You said that one of the first years has been stalking you, a little red–haired boy with green eyes and tanned skin," James said.

"Yeah, there has," Harry said. "It's creepy, and it's getting on my nerves."

"And what House were they from?" James asked.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Hufflepuff?"

"Every student wears their House colours on their robes, Harry," James said seriously. "You should be able to tell."

"Well, I don't remember right now. So what?"

"There's no student at Hogwarts matching that description."

Harry raised a brow.

"I know what I saw."

"And I believe that you saw a boy like that," James nodded. "But he isn't real. He's a mental construct. Besides that, your mood swings are becoming more and more intense. Not to mention, you can rarely focus when I teach you, and your friends tell me they're worried about you, because you seem like a little kid at times, and an angry drunk at others. And I know exactly what caused all of this to emerge, but I need you to tell me this: what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Potions isn't exactly my best subject."

"It's the same plant, Harry," James said, adopting a more sombre tone of voice. "You know this, you know it well. What's wolfsbane also known as, and what's it used for?"

"Poison, I guess," Harry shrugged, seemingly growing bored.

"Yeah, but according to Professor Sprout, you knew so much more about this very plant in the beginning of the school year. So let me ask you this: what has happened since you became so happy and began having these mood swings?"

Harry sighed and slumped in his chair, something _very_ uncharacteristic of the boy.

"You removed the horcrux inside me?" Harry shrugged once more.

"Exactly," James said. "And I'm going to offer you something you'll one day thank me for. To give you back the soul shard once the part of it that acts as an anchor for Voldemort's soul has died off."

"No fucking way," Harry's jaw tightened and he sat back up. "No fucking way will I let that thing back inside me."

"A soul shard can only act as a horcrux when it's fed by magic, which is why it takes something imbued with a lot of magic to house a piece of somebody's soul," James said and walked over to a glass jar. He picked it up and brought it back over to the desk, and Harry immediately got up and walked away, repulsed by the swirling smoke–like substance inside.

"Get that fucking thing away from me," he growled, and his deep, emerald eyes took on a red hue.

"This _thing_ ," James said, emphasizing every word, "is what allowed you to function normally, and in my observation–based opinion, higher than average people. You've gotten sloppy, you've gotten lazy, and you're tossing all rules, even your own, out the window. That isn't the Harry I know, and the Harry I know, the Harry that built his own company from the ground up, would hate your guts."

"And I bet you hate my guts, too," Harry sneered, but a moment later his eyes widened and he looked horrified. "I'm so sorry, James! I didn't mean that!"

"It's alright, because I know you didn't mean it. Not the real you. Now… you're a shadow of who you were. In all honesty, I think the small sliver of Voldemort's soul inside you affected your mental conditions, making you calmer and more stable, much like Voldemort once was before he dived so deeply into the dark arts and began mutilating his soul."

Harry nodded and gulped as his eyes landed on the jar. He was surprised to see that the soul–shard had brightened on colour, and a small flash in his mind, something he couldn't remember where from, told him that it was because the part of it that served to bind Voldemort to Earth was dead, and only the personality of the former man still remained, and would die in time as well. Just as quickly as that little, bright spot of absolute clarity in his almost constantly slightly–befuddled mind, it disappeared again.

"Do it," Harry said, his voice quivering slightly in trepidation. "Do it, now, before I change my mind."

Without word or warning, James whipped out his wand, smashed the glass jar, and as he pointed his wand at Harry, the dark cloud rushed towards him, and slammed him in the forehead. Harry was knocked backwards from the force of the impact, and he fell to the ground, screaming and thrashing as the smoke practically tore his almost fully–healed scar right open and seemed to crawl inside. Harry's world was one of pain and an encroaching darkness that settled on his mind. However, a little while after, the pain seemed to grow weaker and weaker, and Harry's dull mind sharpened and cleared once more, and he took a deep breath.

"Harry?" he heard James' concerned voice. "You okay?"

Harry took another few deep breaths before he sat up and opened his eyes. He looked at James with a neutral, borderline bored expression.

"Well… _that_ happened," he said, and then chuckled lightly. "Fuck, that really hurt."

Harry stood up and dusted off his robes, front and back, before he adjusted his crooked tie and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at the old man, and then smiled his signature smile: a half–smirk, half–smile, a semi–amused look, and a rather content one.

"I'll see you in lessons tomorrow, then?" he asked, before he turned around, stuck his hands in his pockets, and then moved towards the door. As he was about to step out of sight, he turned around and looked at the man who had raised him and taught him for years. "I do believe we're tackling the finer points of biological transmutation in relation to environmental, adaptational advantages of cold–climate species, no?"

With that, and a slightly wider Potter–smile, he calmly walked out the door, hands in pockets and whistling a merry tune. James could only smile as he looked at the door the boy had left through.

"That was easier than I expected," he muttered to himself, and then chuckled and walked back to the office he occupied behind the classroom.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Title**

 **May 25th, 1995**

 **London, England**

Harry strolled down the sidewalk of a smaller street in London, having just visited Jaquelin at The Potter Group. Everything was going smoothly there, though Harry's involvement with the magical branch had slipped almost entirely after the horcrux had been removed from him. He smiled fondly when he remembered the calm darkness that settled over his mind when he had regained that bit of Voldemort's soul, and the dark, beautiful voice returning, whispering in his ear like it always had, advising him on what he should do. He wasn't an anchor anymore, and yet, he retained Tom Riddle's influence, the intelligent, cunning and gorgeous young man that had turned into a homicidal lunatic as he fell into the madness of darker and darker arts. Looking back, he almost cried when he remembered how utterly incompetent and inefficient he had been without it.

 _Never again._

Harry whistled a tune, which soon stopped as two men in suits and trench coats stepped out in front of him. They both wore very serious countenances.

"Harry James Potter?" one of them asked.

"Yes?"

"We have some questions for you, if you don't mind," the other said and pulled a notebook and pen out of one of his pockets. "Can you account for your whereabouts on February 6th, around midnight?"

"I was at home," Harry said, his eyes wary and alert as they assessed the two detectives from Scotland Yard in front of him. He knew their modus operandi, and could recognise the look of a detective anywhere.

"Can anyone verify it?" the other asked.

"My godfather and his best friend," Harry replied. "I moved in there around Christmas, after I discovered that my late parents named a godfather for me. He just got out of prison after new discoveries in an investigation and an arrest made it clear that he was falsely accused of murder, so I moved in with him to get to know him. February sixth, though…" Harry looked out into nothing, as if trying to recall something, "we must've been staying in, then. We were attending a meeting that day."

"What kind of meeting?"

"It was for a club my godfather's a member of," Harry skirted around the mention of the Wizengamot.

"I presume you've been following the news, recently," the first detective asked.

"Not really, I've been busy with my studies," Harry said, which wasn't a lie… he'd been studying some pretty nasty curses he wanted to use on Death Eaters if they ever came after him.

"Jonathan McIrvin in the House of Lords was murdered," the second detective said, scrutinising Harry closely to look for any reactions. "Someone gave him a bottle of water with peanut–oil in it, and the witness, a taxi–driver, claims that the one who gave it to him was a man, quite young as well."

"And you suspect me," Harry concluded.

"I never sai–"

"No, but you implied it rather overtly," Harry said. "I don't know what you think of me, but I'm no murderer. How can you even imagine that I'm capable of something so… _monstrous_ as murder?" Harry said with a disgusted tone of voice, and had to struggle hard internally to keep a smirk off his lips.

"Forgive me, but we looked into Mr McIrvin's files and archives when he died, and we discovered a month into our investigation that he had plans to pass a bill that would rake your company from you until you turned eighteen. When we went to your office, we found out that you had signed the company over to your _secretary_ , a Ms Luças. I'm sure you can imagine our theories when you signed your firm over to a _secretary_."

"No, I really can't," Harry said. "Jaquelin is a phenomenal businesswoman and secretary, and kept track of everything that went on in my firm better than I ever could. One of the banes of being the boss, I suppose," Harry said nonchalantly. "I heard rumours of that bill, yes, and I needed a way to ensure that McIrvin couldn't just take my company and run it into the ground before I turned eighteen. Jaquelin is twenty–six, so she would be exempt from the details of such a bill. I resigned myself to the fact that it would pass."

"I see," the second detective muttered, though he didn't seem convinced. "You have a good day, Mr Potter."

"Hmm," Harry mumbled and continued on his way, less excited than he had been when he left his old office.

•••

Harry casually walked alongside an elderly woman who wore a kind smile and sophisticated clothes.

"… and when we then send the manuscripts to the press, we always make a batch of ten which we send out to different editors. We then get the edited manuscripts back and see the most consistent edits, and we then decide on which we will use. That process usually takes two or three months, but our reviews and critics are almost uniformly favourable," the woman, Natalia Harris, the owner of Obscurus Books, explained the entire process by which the publishing company ran their operation.

"Interesting," Harry smiled curtly and nodded. "And how many titles do you publish every year?"

"Maybe four or five in more recent years," Ms Harris stated. "We used to be a lot busier, but most of the titles that are sent to us these days are upstarts who try to publish material that is already on our shelves. They seem to believe that their own books on magical creatures or theories aren't already published," he finished with a chuckle.

"I can imagine," Harry chuckled as well. "Have you considered my offer?"

"It is quite generous, I will grant you that," Ms Harris said. "It would be enough to support me until the day I die, really. But I'm not sure. I quite enjoy my work here."

"I can relate to that," Harry said with a smile. "When I began my firm in the Muggle world, I would jump between the teams I had and lend my aid wherever it was needed. These days, not only is there no need for me to help anywhere, but it has grown so large that I just can't keep up with it _and_ indulge my own whims."

"Say: If you could guarantee that I would be allowed to continue working as manager of Obscurus, it may go a long way to secure us a deal."

"Absolutely," Harry said. "I can relate to your desire to stay where you are. Of course, I would need you to begin training your successor in the near future, but until you become too old to continue working or if you should die before that time comes, I would have no qualms with it."

"You make it sound like you're planning my death, my dear," she said with an amused look.

"I've always been a bit more… _pragmatic_ than most people are comfortable with. It isn't that I expect things to happen; I just like being _prepared_ in case they do. I already have a rough outline of how to train my own children to take my place one day, but since I'm not a father yet, I can't make it a real, substantial plan."

"What if your children would want to do something else one day, hmm?"

"Then I wouldn't stop them," Harry shrugged. "But I would do my best to impress upon them how glorious and fulfilling continuing a long line of impressive people is. I find myself more and more impressed by my own family history the more I learn about it," Harry said. "Abraham Potter was the first Auror of the MACUSA in America, my grandfather Fleamont invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, my ancestor Linfred invented the Skele–Gro and a few other potions commonly used to this day… I am proud to be a Potter, and I am honoured to be able to continue their legacies."

"I can imagine," Ms Harris nodded in approval. "I will talk to my investors and hear their opinions. If you will draft a contract, _just in case_ …"

"Of course, Ms Harris," Harry nodded with a smile.

•••

 **May 29th, 1995**

 **Diagon Alley, London**

"I'm happy to be in business with you, Ms Harris," Harry said with his signature Potter–smile, and shook the woman's hand after he laid down the pen he had used to sign the contract.

"As I am with you, Mr Potter," Ms Harris agreed. "You may not entirely share my love of books, but there is no doubt in my mind that you can keep this publication afloat much better than I can."

"I wouldn't say it would be better, but I definitely have more resources to spend here," he said. "Speaking of which, I hear there's this new printing press coming out…"


	17. Ancestry of the Peverell–Potter Family

**Author's Note:** _I wrote this so that I myself have a reference to go by when I write about Harry's ancestry, but I thought that it turned out pretty cool, even if I haven't fleshed out every single patrilineal ancestor. I did take quite a few liberties with it, which usually isn't_ really _my style, and I just don't have the patience for that with a fanfic, but I've left some of the described ones open–ended so that I might in the future write a short story about any of them. Who knows? Could be fun. Anyways, I just thought I would share this with you._

 _Although… I have seen a few people asking why Harry's wand was snapped,_ even though blah blah blah _. As it turns out, on the Harry Potter wiki, it says under the article for Ordinary Wizarding Level (and I was quite amused to learn that NEWT stood for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test), it says that:_

" _Successfully completing the O.W.L.s is a sign that the student is trustworthy enough to be a law-abiding citizen who can learn from their mistakes. Thus, any such students who are expelled will be permitted to keep their wands and continue to practise magic, though this would be a sign of disgrace forever tainting their permanent record, as Newton Scamander underwent."_

 _So… there you go, I guess. Not passed any OWL's? Wand snapped. Passed OWL's? Wand not snapped. And Harry… is fourth year. Meaning: "Not passed any OWL's"._

 _This took quite some time to make, and while it was somewhat fun, it was, in my opinion, a little too much for a fanfic. However, I am currently worldbuilding my own, personal setting, which this fic is kind of taking place in. In that setting, I'm in the middle of fleshing out the magical community of France, or as I like calling it, "Supernal Gaul". It's somewhat inspired by Rowling's Wizarding Britain, though without the whole 'Ministry' part, and more 'Wizengamot–ish', with magical society operating much like medieval feudalism and having several notable Houses, collectively called "La Noblesse Magique", with distinctions like_ _ **noblesse royale**_ _(magical offshoots of medieval and renaissance royal families of France),_ _ **noblesse d'épée**_ _(nobility of the sword), and_ _ **noblesse ancienne**_ _(ancient nobility). Don't know when I'm releasing the first novel, might be some years from now. But I am building the world, and I think it's going well and becoming quite interesting. I've only finished the first chapter, but then again, I've written it, like, ten different ways._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy._

 ** _P.S.:_**

 _I would like to give credit to 'The Metal Sage', another writer on Fanfiction. I discovered recently that the idea of the Poteria wasn't actually my own, and so when I discovered that it was from a story of his I'd read quite some time ago, called "A Godfather's Promise," I wrote him and informed him of the gross overstepping of boundaries I'd done. He kindly gave me permission to continue using his concept of the Roman family Poteria as the predecessor to the Potter family, and I thank him for it._

 _The Poteria family was 'The Metal Sage's inception, as a patrician family. I used that as inspiration for my own story, but changed it to being a **stirps** , a branch of a **gens** , a patrician family called "Potitia". Also, he envisioned the Poteria as rulers, soldiers, conquerors, and generals. I went for a more peaceful route, with having them simply be very advanced and powerful witches and wizards who pioneered many fields of magic. That is where our versions of the pre–Saxon Potters differ. But still, in the end, I did accidentally plagiarise his concept, and for that, I am sorry._

 _For those who enjoy reading some bondage smut fiction, I can highly recommend his story "A Godfather's Promise," featuring a dominant, alpha–male Harry, who is trying to live up to his ancestry of rulers, generals, and conquerors, romancing a submissive Fleur. It's a good story, with interesting characterisations of both of these people, as well as an interesting premise in terms of the Potters' ancestry (obviously, as I completely ripped it for myself by accident)._

•••

 _ **Patrilineal Ancestry of the Peverell–Potter Family**_

The House of Potter–Peverell has a long and glorious history, though most of it is shrouded in the darkness of unkept records. If one were to go to extreme lengths to research this long and proud lineage of pure–blooded wizards, one would find the end of the trail in Egypt, where the progenitors of the House Peverell served as priests and priestesses, most notably a line of their daughters being the God's Wife of Amun in Thebes from almost a thousand years before the birth of Christ, up until the time of Caesar and Cleopatra. The Potters descended from the Potitia, a patrician family in ancient Rome, which itself can trace their own origin to even more ancient Greece, and from then to Egypt and to Mesopotamia.

 **Peverell**

Not much is known about the Peverell family, though there are three of their members that are incredibly well–known to the more scholarly or educated members of magical society, as they were incredibly powerful wizards of almost the purest of blood that can exist without inbreeding. Though few members of the family before Madrigal and his three sons are known by name, it is known through the books and journals they kept that they have ancestry in Rome, Greece, and most notably Egypt, where they were powerful necromancers and ritual mages.

 ** _Madrigal Peverell_**

 _Date of Birth_ : c. 500

 _Date of Death_ : c. 1000

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow

 _Children_ : Antioch, Cadmus, Ignotus

Madrigal was a thoughtful, careful, and scholarly man, who rigorously studied the magical arts to their fullest. He pioneered in almost every branch of magic there was, and he barred none. He delved into the darkest of arts, though mostly on a theoretical level, simply for his love of all things magic. He was an expert in enchanting, alchemy, blood magic, spirit magic, soul magic, necromancy, curses, transfiguration and many other things, and he made good use of his five centuries of life to study. He was, amongst other things, the creator of the Pensieve, which he would bury in the ground somewhere in Scotland because he was growing obsessed with revisiting his memories of his late wife after her death while giving birth to their third son, Ignotus.

He passed on much of his knowledge and wisdom to his sons:

 _Antioch_ was a formidable duellist, incapable of defeat in real battle and flinging curses the likes that would fill even Merlin with awe. He used his skill and knowledge to create a wand unlike any other, the Elder Wand, which would eventually become a legendary artefact known as a Deathly Hallow. However, he never knew exactly what it was that he wanted, so he used the wand to create the Mirror of Erised, so that he would know exactly what to get using that powerful wand. Antioch was murdered in his sleep by someone who wanted the wand he wielded for themselves.

 _Cadmus_ was a powerful necromancer and took to spirit magic like bees to honey. He devised a stone that would one day become the Deathly Hallow known as the Resurrection Stone, an artefact capable of summoning a shade of the dead without lengthy rituals draining massive amounts of power. However, when he used it to bring back his deceased fiancé, he was so overcome with grief at her constant melancholy and pain at being in the world of the living for too long that he took his own life to be with her again. Before he succumbed to his depression, though, he managed to create the Veil that rests inside the Department of Mysteries so that he may attempt to travel to the realm of the dead, find his wife, and bring her back through it. He never returned after stepping through it.

 _Ignotus_ , Madrigal's youngest son, was proficient in many magics, but enchantment more so than any of his brothers. He was the one who designed most of the enchantments on the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, where his brothers supplied their respective expertise to make them whole and real, turning from design to device.

 ** _Ignotus Peverell_**

 _Parents_ : Madrigal Peverell & unknown mother

 _Date of Birth_ : c. 898

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1201

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Children_ : Martinus Peverell

Ignotus Peverell was the youngest of Madrigal Peverell's three sons, the other two being Antioch and Cadmus. Like his father and two brothers, Ignotus was an extremely powerful wizard, and was also the smartest of the three, pioneering in alchemy, blood magic, necromancy and dark arts. Ignotus never got to meet his mother, as she died from Dragon Pox almost a year after his birth, but he loved her all throughout his life, and she was the last person he thought of when he was old and weak, lying in his bed and just waiting to finally meet her.

He also created the Cloak of Invisibility, a legendary artefact which would become known as a Deathly Hallow, and was capable of bestowing complete, unbreakable invisibility on it's wearer. He devised the Cloak after noticing that no one in memories viewed in his father's Pensieve could see the one viewing the memories, and used that concept as inspiration for it. The Cloak would later be passed down to his son, and then down to Iolanthe, seeing as his own son, Martinus, had five daughters, but never had any sons.

 ** _Martinus Peverell_**

 _Parents_ : Ignotus Peverell & Nerissa Peverell, née Addington

 _Date of Birth_ : 1176

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1259

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Kaliyah Peverell, née Jocastian

 _Children_ : Iolanthe Potter née Peverell, Pelopia Peverell, Atalanta Peverell, Irene Peverell, Megara Peverell

 ** _Iolanthe Potter, née Peverell_**

 _Parents_ : Martinus Peverell & Kaliyah Peverell, née Jocastian

 _Date of Birth_ : 1226

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1312

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Hardwin Potter

 _Children_ : Ignotus Potter

Iolanthe Peverell was the granddaughter of Ignotus Peverell. Described as "beautiful," she lived in Godric's Hollow, and inherited the Cloak of Invisibility from her grandfather due to the lack of any male heirs in her generation. Upon her marriage to Hardwin Potter, she explained that, in the tradition of the Peverell family, possession of the cloak was kept secret. Hardwin honoured her family's tradition, and, from then on, the cloak was passed to the eldest child of each new generation in the Potter family.

 ** _stirps_ Poteria of _gens_ Potitia**

Not much is known about the Poteria, a stirps of the gens Potitia, one of the patrician families of Ancient Rome. What is known about the Poteria, however, is that they were studious and clever, even when compared to the current, average wizard.

 ** _Hermes Potitius Achilleus_**

 _Date of Birth_ : 405 BCE

 _Place of Birth_ : Rome, Roman Empire

 _Date of Death_ : 246 BCE

 _Place of Death_ : Rome, Roman Empire

 _Spouse_ : Anthousa Potitius

 _Children_ : Lucius Potitius Julius, Lucius Poterius Sextus

At the end of the fourth century BCE, the Potitii were almost wiped out by a plague, rendering Hermes the only survivor, thanks to his youngest son, Lucius Poterius Sextus, and his wife. Lucius was born as a wizard, a half–blood due to his mother, Anthousa's pure–blood status. Anthousa had taught Lucius magic since early childhood, especially potions, and together they brewed a cure for the "Potitii Plague" for Hermes.

 ** _Lucius Poterius Sextus_**

 _Parents_ : Hermes Potitius Achilleus & Anthousa Potitius

 _Date of Birth_ : 299 BCE

 _Place of Birth_ : Rome, Roman Empire

 _Date of Death_ : 1 BCE

 _Place of Death_ : Rome, Roman Empire

 _Spouse_ : Valeria Poterius

 _Children_ : Lucretia Poterius, Primus Poterius Julius, Primus Poterius Valerius

Lucius was the first trueborn descendant of the _gens_ Potitia to be a wizard, being the half–blooded son of the Muggle Hermes Potitius Achilleus and the pure–blood witch Anthousa.

Lucius helped his mother brew the cure for the "Potitii Plague" that killed every Potitii except for Hermes. However, it turned out that the potion they brewed wasn't even just a cure; it was a vaccine. By pouring vast amounts of the potion into Rome's water–supply, they spread the vaccine to the city's entire populace, and thereby ended the "Potitii Plague" once and for all.

After that, Lucius began studying herbology and potions even more and invented quite a few of the precursors to many popular potions still used today, among which are the original versions of Felix Felicis, the Polyjuice Potion, Veritaserum, and several others, such as one that allows the drinker to pass through the black fire of the spell Protego Diabolica.

 ** _Primus Poterius Valerius_**

 _Parents_ : Lucius Poterius Sextus & Valeria Poterius

 _Date of Birth_ : 156 BCE

 _Place of Birth_ : Rome, Roman Empire

 _Date of Death_ : 27 BCE

 _Children_ : Hadrianus Poterius Flavius

Primus was born in a time of strife in the Roman Empire, and living on the outskirts of Rome, his estate was ripe for picking for invading barbarians. He had to constantly fight off Gaulish barbarians who snuck into the empire and tried to take his estate as the first step of their planned invasion of the nation. The assassination of Julius Caesar didn't exactly put Primus at ease, so to get away from the chaos and wanting a better life for both himself and his descendants, he packed up his things, took his wife and son, Hadrianus, and together they all left Rome.

Primus' wife never made it out of the empire, as she was killed in a surprise raid in the middle of the night while the town the Romans stayed in for the night was attacked. Following his wife's screamed command, he grabbed his ten–year–old son and used his own invention, Apparition, and escaped the place. He didn't stop apparating until he was leagues away, and he fell ill for a few days from the exertion of having side–along–apparated his son for a league, and having splinched a little in the process.

While he did recover, his extensive and intense use of the ability he had far from mastered, as well as splinching some of his internal organs and not healing them properly, he passed away ten years later, just as he and his son made it to the border of Germania over a mountain. The thin air and relief of having brought his son, now an adult, out of the dangerous place they had called home, allowed Primus to let death claim him on that mountain top, and he passed away with a peaceful mind, knowing he had saved his son from a terrible fate in a terrible land.

Hadrianus buried his father on the mountain top, and it wasn't until centuries later that his skeletal remains were recovered by Lukas Poterius Hadrianus, his descendant, and brought to the Poteria Crypt in Godric's Hollow.

 ** _Hadrianus Poterius Flavius_**

 _Father_ : Primus Poterius Valerius

 _Date of Birth_ : 61 BCE

 _Place of Birth_ : Rome, Roman Empire

 _Date of Death_ : 12 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Germania

 _Children_ : Cassius Poterius Julius

Hadrianus spent the rest of his life travelling Germania, though he eventually settled in the North, close to the border to Gaul. It was there he met his wife, a Gaulish witch, who bore him a son, Cassius.

 ** _Cassius Poterius Julius_**

 _Father_ : Hadrianus Poterius Flavius

 _Date of Birth_ : 5 BCE

 _Place of Birth_ : Germania

 _Date of Death_ : 74 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Gaul

 _Children_ : Vitus Poterius Antonius

Cassius was the first Poteria to go to Gaul, having grown up hearing stories about it from his mother, who was a Gaulish woman. He eventually settled there, and died there as well.

 ** _Vitus Poterius Antonius_**

 _Father_ : Cassius Poterius Julius

 _Date of Birth_ : 19 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Gaul

 _Date of Death_ : 97 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Gaul

 _Children_ : Marcus Poterius Hadrianus

Vitus was the last of the Poteria to use the _cognomen_ , the last part of the Roman _tria nomina_ , as a nickname. From his son, Marcus Poterius Hadrianus, the _Hadrianus_ cognomen became an extension of the _Poterius_ nomen.

 ** _Marcus Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Father_ : Vitus Poterius Antonius

 _Date of Birth_ : 44 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Gaul

 _Date of Death_ : 138 CE

 _Children_ : Quintus Poterius Hadrianus

 ** _Quintus Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Father_ : Marcus Poterius Hadrianus

 _Date of Birth_ : 102 CE

 _Date of Death_ : 210 CE

 _Children_ : Pontius Poterius Hadrianus

 ** _Pontius Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Father_ : Quintus Poterius Hadrianus

 _Date of Birth_ : 166 CE

 _Date of Death_ : 250 CE

 _Children_ : Marius Poterius Hadrianus

 ** _Marius Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Father_ : Pontius Poterius Hadrianus

 _Date of Birth_ : 200 CE

 _Date of Death_ : 299 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Londinium, Britannia

 _Children_ : Caius Poterius Hadrianus

After three generations of practically nothing from the Poteria except for their names and lifespans, Marius was the first to make it to Britannia, and he settled in Londinium, a prospering Roman town at the time. He was born a seer, and he became well–known for his gift for prophecy in the area that would become the Kingdom of Essex.

 ** _Caius Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Father_ : Marius Poterius Hadrianus

 _Date of Birth_ : 264 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Londinium, Britannia

 _Date of Death_ : 498 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Londinium, Britannia

 _Children_ : Lukas Poterius Hadrianus

Caius spent his early childhood listening to his mother's stories, seeing as his father was almost always away on business as a seer. However, as he grew into his early teens, he found a profound interest in the art of alchemy. Using his father's connections and gold, he sought out and purchased several tomes on alchemy, and for his name days, his father bought him ingredients and tools used to work alchemy, with the only restriction being that he had to be under his mother's supervision whenever he wanted to experiment.

Throughout his remaining youth and adulthood, Caius became an incredibly proficient alchemist and took the science to new heights. He went by the pseudonym ' _Arkaeus_ ' when he held lectures and later, after an experiment backfired and caused him to be weak and fragile for his final 25 years of life, as his writer's name.

 _Arkaeus_ was the man responsible for spreading most of the knowledge of alchemy known in the western world today throughout the magical society of the British Isles. His writings are, still to this day, used in Hogwarts' curriculum of the advanced NEWT class of alchemy, and much of his theory are core pillars of potion–brewing. He was very close to discovering the philosopher's stone and its capabilities, but suffered his accident in his attempts to create it.

He did outline the rough guidelines of transmuting it in a personal journal of his, though, as he discovered the true recipe for creating it when he later managed to discover what he had done wrong. However, he was too weak to be able to actually transmute the stone, and he took the secret of it with him into his grave… _literally_.

Before his accident, in 412, Arkaeus used old blood– and soul magic and rituals recorded by his ancestors to alter the house–elves his son purchased. He gave the elves better senses to smell out poisons, venoms, and to see potential threats a fair distance off. They were given alchemical remedies that made their bodies stronger and more durable, as well as better utilising the nourishment they ate. Their souls were altered so that they could better utilise their magic, allowing them to perform greater feats than any other house–elf, as well as to apparate beyond any wards. He also altered the _akh_ of their soul, the part that allows for reason and logic, and changed it to permanently strengthen their minds, allowing them to learn and retain information much better than any other house–elf, and most humans at that. A few side–effects of these things were the increased longevity from about fifty years to three hundred if they were lucky, as well as the ability to absorb knowledge of a person's native language by touching their skin.

Arkaeus was the most respected and accomplished alchemist of Europe in the 4th century, all the way through to the 11th, when Merlin stepped on to the scene, and Arkaeus was left in the dust. Some of his work was even attributed to other alchemists, Merlin included, decades after he died, and he made some of the most valuable additions to the Poteria Library in the form of grimoires and journals. As part of his revolutionary study in alchemy and his innovations of potion–brewing, he also created many recipes for new, potent substances. He wrote down basic guides to wand lore and herbology, some of the recipes even requiring now–extinct plants which had miraculous effects. He also created spells of his own, many of which relied on certain rituals already found in the Poteria Library. Much of the magic he invented and created helped him reach almost 250 years, an exceptional age for even powerful wizards.

 ** _Lukas Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Father_ : Caius Poterius Hadrianus

 _Date of Birth_ : 364 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Londinium, Britannia

 _Date of Death_ : 531 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Spouse_ : Eawyn

 _Children_ : Lineas Poterius Hadrianus

Lukas' biggest contribution to the Poteria in England was not only having the Poteria leave Londinium when it became clear that it would be abandoned, but the crypt he secretly built beneath the spot that would eventually become Godric's Hollow, an extensive, subterranean structure where he erected tombs for his ancestors, carving their names and accomplishments into bases of statues of them, and made plenty of room for future descendants. Every descendant of his was buried in that crypt as well, and even when Hadrianus of Stinchcombe left behind the Poteria's name, he still made sure that he and his own descendants would be buried in the Poteria Crypt beneath Godric's Hollow, a small family of house–elves ensuring that, even if members of the Potter family were buried elsewhere, they would dig up the remains and transport them to the Poteria Crypt where the elves would continue the tradition of carving statues of the deceased and carving their names and accomplishments into the base of the statues.

Just beneath the Crypt itself is a vault a thousand times more secure than any of the vaults in Gringotts, filled to the brim with magical artefacts, gold, valuables, statues, ancient tomes in perfectly preserved states, and well over a hundred billion pounds–worth of relics. There are archaic, priceless paintings, marble statues and busts, ancient coins in perfect shape, armour sets from Roman times in perfect condition, and dozens of magical weapons, armour, and other artefacts.

Both the Poteria Crypt and Poteria Vault are protected by some of the strongest magical defences ever seen, as they are built precisely in the centre of a node where six leylines intersect, and the residual power of the Poteria members' remains help empowering the wards. Literally, only one born of the Poteria bloodline can enter the Vault, though anyone with Poteria blood in their bodies or with residue of it, such as a woman who gave birth to a Poterius, can enter the Crypt.

The house–elves Lukas purchased were altered by Lukas' father to be able to better serve the Poteria.

 ** _Lineas Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Parents_ : Lukas Poterius Hadrianus & Eawyn

 _Date of Birth_ : 488 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 575 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Caeis Poterius Hadrianus

Lineas was an accomplished battlemage, and won many duels and fights in his life. The wealth he acquired through this, he hid in the Poteria Crypt.

 ** _Caeis Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Parents_ : Lineas Poterius Hadrianus & Lucienne of Ashbridge

 _Date of Birth_ : 501 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 578 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Marcellus Poterius Hadrianus

Caeis was a born politician, and he was a very active man in British politics in the time of the Heptarchy, and he became a major figure in both the Witenaġemot _and_ the Wizengamot.

 ** _Marcellus Poterius Hadrianus_**

 _Parents_ : Caeis Poterius Hadrianus & Þúriðr Árfastdóttir

 _Date of Birth_ : 536 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 712 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Marcus Poterius

Where his father had been a politician, Marcellus met the name he had been given, meaning 'little warrior'; he was a brave, valiant fighter of incredible skill. He could wield combat magic as well as he wielded swords, shields, spears, and bows, and no one could escape his aim when he determined to kill someone. He dutifully served his father as bodyguard, and trained a small militia that served the Poteria until the time of Helios Poterius, when the family lost a great battle that resulted in them going into hiding, with their entire militia dead.

He lived up to his name in another way as well, however; at his full height, he stood at 157 cm.

 ** _Marcus Poterius_**

 _Parents_ : Marcellus Poterius Hadrianus & Benedicta

 _Date of Birth_ : 608 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 700 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Aulus Poterius

Marcus was a sensitive boy, and his father's harsh training and insistence that he should become a warrior as well made the boy retreat back into himself. It wasn't until Marcellus died, when Marcus was in his thirties, that Marcus was freed from his father's oppressive clutches and began building a name for himself as a skilled author and writer, and at the same time dropped the 'Hadrianus' cognomen to get away from his father's influence as much as possible. He became a renowned scribe, and was paid large sums of money to write down family histories and drawing family trees for various noble families, muggle and magical alike. When he died, his remarkable fortune was taken to the Poteria Vault.

 ** _Aulus Poterius_**

 _Parents_ : Marcus Poterius & Ana de Saint–André

 _Date of Birth_ : 666 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 732 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Arkaeus Poterius

Aulus Poterius followed much in his father's footsteps, and grew up hearing his father's many tales and stories. He eventually began researching old stories and travelled the world in search of them. He wrote down many myths, legends, and histories from around the world, and recorded many creatures and wizards of repute. He and his father made by far the largest contributions to the Poteria Library and the Poteria Crypt's recordings of the ancient Poteria who had come before them.

 ** _Arkaeus Poterius_**

 _Parents_ : Aulus Poterius & Korydwen Guegan

 _Date of Birth_ : 699 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 782 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Helios Poterius

Arkaeus was a proficient duellist, and travelled around England and Scotland, winning duels and making a small fortune that he buried in a secret room in a hidden crypt his ancestor, Lukas Poterius Hadrianus, built beneath Godric's Hollow for his family to be buried in.

Arkaeus' father named him after a famed and proficient alchemist who was on the verge of discovering the philosopher's stone before he suffered an accident in his experiments.

 ** _Helios Poterius_**

 _Parents_ : Arkaeus Poterius & Ceana MacClambroch

 _Date of Birth_ : 749 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 878 CE

 _Place of Death_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Children_ : Hadrianus of Stinchcombe

Helios Poterius was a proficient diviner, and was an expert at interpreting the omens of celestial bodies in the sky. His father named him Helios after the Greek god of the sun because he was born exactly at noon, with the sun baking down on Godric's Hollow.

 ** _Hadrianus of Stinchcombe (Hadrianus Poterius)_**

 _Parents_ : Helios Poterius & Eilís Uí Giolla Duibh

 _Date of Birth_ : 812 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : The town that would eventually become **Godric's Hollow, England**

 _Date of Death_ : 1002 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Stinchcombe

 _Children_ : Newton of Stinchcombe

Hadrianus was the first of the Poteria who set foot in Stinchcombe, and he settled down there, and until the birth of his descendant, Linfred, nothing major happened in the family, though they did become great potioneers and healers during this time.

 ** _Newton of Stinchcombe (Nero Poterius)_**

 _Parents_ : Hadrianus of Stinchcombe & Cécire Le Paulmier

 _Date of Birth_ : 945 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Stinchcombe

 _Date of Death_ : 1094 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Stinchcombe

 _Children_ : Gerald of Stinchcombe

A scholar of a more muggle–friendly bend, he began studying the natural world both through magical and non–magical lenses. In fact, this wizard was so observant that he noticed the discrepancy between magical levitation and how an object would fall once the spell was released. He discovered gravity, though he envisioned it as a cosmic force around the Earth that would push everything down.

Some of his notes were discovered in the 18th century by a young, aspiring scientist called Isaac. The young man took up the original author's name as his last name so that, if the notes were ever discovered again, people would assume he wrote them, encoded in Old English so that they couldn't be stolen by just anyone.

 ** _Gerald of Stinchcombe (Germanus Poterius)_**

 _Parents_ : Newton of Stinchcombe & Clare Claybrook

 _Date of Birth_ : 1042 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Stinchcombe

 _Date of Death_ : 1108 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Stinchcombe

 _Children_ : Frederick of Stinchcombe

Gerald's greatest contribution to the Poteria is his few recipes for unique, powerful potions that were locked away in the Crypta Poteria by the house–elf clan that attends the crypt.

 ** _Frederick of Stinchcombe (Festus Poterius)_**

 _Parents_ : Gerald of Stinchcombe & Esther Elmebrigge

 _Date of Birth_ : 1089 CE

 _Place of Birth_ : Stinchcombe

 _Date of Death_ : 1175 CE

 _Place of Death_ : Stinchcombe

 _Children_ : Linfred "Potter" of Stinchcombe

Frederick followed in his father's footsteps and became a proficient potioneer, and developed a few of his own potions.

 **Potter**

The Poteria slowly changed over the course of centuries after leaving Rome, and for a while after Hadrianus of Stinchcombe, the Poteria had no true surname until Linfred, and later in his life, he took up a family name, and used his ancestor's _nomen_ , the Roman clan–name 'Poteria', to bastardise it into 'Potter', seeing as his neighbours and fellow townsmen already called him "The Potterer".

 ** _Linfred "Potter" of Stinchcombe (Livius Poterius Festus)_**

 _Parents_ : Frederick of Stinchcombe & Saskia

 _Date of Birth_ : 1131

 _Place of Birth_ : Stinchcombe

 _Date of Death_ : 1268

 _Place of Death_ : Stinchcombe

 _Spouse_ : Maria Potter, née Black

 _Children_ : Hardwin Potter, six unknown children

In the 12th century, Linfred lived in the village of Stinchcombe, Gloucestershire, where he had a reputation as an eccentric, absent-minded man. Nonetheless, his helpful nature and affability made him universally liked and his Muggle neighbours often came to him seeking remedies for their ailments. He readily brewed potions for them using ingredients from his garden. The Muggles remained unaware that Linfred's remedies were magical and thus continued thinking of him as just a strange, lovable man who enjoyed "pottering about in his garden with all his funny plants." This led to him being given the nickname "the Potterer", which over the years was corrupted into simply "Potter." As his neighbours did not know he was a wizard, Linfred was able to conduct experiments in peace, inventing a number of medicinal potions, including ones which later developed into Skele–Gro and Pepperup Potion. He sold these potions to fellow witches and wizards, amassing great wealth in the process.

Linfred fathered seven children. He left each of them a significant amount of gold upon his death. His eldest son, Hardwin, married Iolanthe Peverell.

 ** _Hardwin Potter (Hadrianus Poterius Livius)_**

 _Parents_ : Linfred Potter & Maria Potter, née Black

 _Date of Birth_ : 1223

 _Place of Birth_ : Stinchcombe

 _Date of Death_ : 1305

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Iolanthe Potter, née Peverell

 _Children_ : Ignotus Potter

Hardwin Potter was the eldest son of Linfred of Stinchcombe. Upon his father's death, he inherited a sizable sum of gold, as did each of his six siblings. Hardwin met and married Iolanthe Peverell of Godric's Hollow. Iolanthe, the granddaughter of Ignotus Peverell, inherited the Cloak of Invisibility, since there were no male heirs in her generation. She told Hardwin that, by tradition in her family, possession of the cloak was kept secret. He respected her wishes, and, from then on, the cloak was passed down to the eldest child of each new generation of the Potter family.

Hardwin was the inspiration for the cruel son of a kindly wizard in Beedle the Bard's _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_ , though he eventually became kinder when he met his wife.

 ** _Ignotus Potter (Ignotus Poterius Hadrianus)_**

 _Parents_ : Hardwin Potter & Iolanthe Potter, née Peverell

 _Date of Birth_ : 1282

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1367

 _Place of Death_ : London, England

 _Spouse_ : Cassiopeia Potter, née Black

 _Children_ : Hardwin Potter II

 ** _Hardwin Potter II (Hadrianus Poterius Ignotus)_**

 _Parents_ : Ignotus Potter & Cassiopeia Potter, née Black

 _Date of Birth_ : 1333

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1420

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Phoibe Potter, née Attaliates

 _Children_ : Linfred Potter II

 ** _Linfred Potter II (Livius Poterius Hadrianus)_**

 _Parents_ : Hardwin Potter II & Phoibe Potter, née Attaliates

 _Date of Birth_ : 1401

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1532

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Korinne Potter, née Lestrange

 _Children_ : Mathias Luke Potter

 ** _Mathias Luke Potter (Martinus Poterius Lucius)_**

 _Parents_ : Linfred Potter II & Korinne Potter, née Lestrange

 _Date of Birth_ : 1469

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1597

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Sansa Potter, née Ollivander

 _Children_ : Lysander Brandon Potter

 ** _Lysander Brandon Potter (Lucianus Poterius Brutus)_**

 _Parents_ : Mathias Luke Potter & Sansa Potter, née Ollivander

 _Date of Birth_ : 1499

 _Place of Birth_ : New Hampshire, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1621

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Camillia Potter, née Malfoy

 _Children_ : Ralston Potter

 ** _Ralston Potter (Regulus Poterius Lucianus)_**

 _Parents_ : Lysander Brandon Potter & Camillia Potter, née Malfoy

 _Date of Birth_ : 1598

 _Place of Birth_ : London, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1682

 _Place of Death_ : London, England

 _Spouse_ : Malia Potter, née Gaunt

 _Children_ : Albertus Magnus Potter

Ralston Potter was a member of the Wizengamot from 1612 to 1652. He was a staunch advocate of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, in contrast to his more militant peers, who wished to declare war against Muggles.

 ** _Albertus Magnus Potter (Albertus Poterius Magnus)_**

 _Parents_ : Ralston Potter & Malia Potter, née Gaunt

 _Date of Birth_ : 20th of January, 1680

 _Place of Birth_ : London, England

 _Date of Death_ : 7th of November, 1808

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Freya Potter, née Harrison

 _Children_ : Charlus Potter

 ** _Charlus Potter (Cassius Poterius Albertus)_**

 _Parents_ : Albertus Magnus Potter & Freya Potter, née Harrison

 _Date of Birth_ : 1st of April, 1790

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 1st of April, 1851

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Dorea Potter, née Black

 _Children_ : Kingston Arthur Potter

 ** _Kingston Arthur Potter (Cicero Poterius Arcturus)_**

 _Parents_ : Charlus Potter & Dorea Potter, née Black

 _Date of Birth_ : 10th of September, 1823

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 30th of June, 1900

 _Place of Death_ : London, England

 _Spouse_ : Selene Potter, née Fleamont

 _Children_ : Henry Potter

Kingston Potter was an archaeologist and historian, and was the first descendant of the seemingly extinct Poteria clan to have discovered their existence, and came close to discovering the whereabouts of the Crypta Poteria. In the end, he never discovered the exact location of the crypt, but he did leave his research notes about it to the goblins at Gringotts, which almost a century after his death led his great–great–grandson, Harry Potter, to discover the crypt after centuries of obscurity.

 ** _Henry "Harry" Potter (Herminus Poterius Cicero)_**

 _Parents_ : Kingston Potter & Selene Potter, née Fleamont

 _Date of Birth_ : 5th of August, 1868

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 24th of December, 1964

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Adrianne Potter, née Fawley

 _Children_ : Fleamont Potter

Henry Potter, also known as Harry to his family and friends, was either a pure–blood wizard who served on the Wizengamot from 1913 to 1921. He was the father of Fleamont Potter, grandfather of James Potter, and great–grandfather of the famous Harry Potter.

 ** _Fleamont Potter (Flavius Poterius Herminus)_**

 _Parents_ : Henry Potter & Adrianne Potter, née Fawley

 _Date of Birth_ : 1st of May, 1902

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 12th of February, 1980

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Euphemia Potter, née Burke

 _Children_ : James Potter

Fleamont was born into the wealthy pure–blooded family, to Henry Potter, a prominent Wizengamot member. He was named after his paternal grandmother's maiden name, as it was her dying wish that he perpetuate her maiden name, which would otherwise die out.

He started at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age of eleven and was Sorted into Gryffindor House. Due to the teasing he got for his first name, he often got into fights over it, to which he would later attribute his dexterity at duelling. At some point and per the family tradition, he inherited the Cloak of Invisibility from his father Henry Potter, who was a distant descendant of Ignotus Peverell.

After his graduation, Fleamont developed Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, sales of which quadrupled the family gold. On 29 November 1926, the Daily Prophet ran a front–page story on how his hair potion had wooed American witches. Upon retirement, he sold the company that made the potion at a vast profit.

Fleamont married Euphemia Potter, and although the family prospered, they had difficulty in having children. They eventually gave up the hope of having a son or daughter of their own. However, in 1959, to the couple's shock and surprise, Euphemia became pregnant. Their son, James, was born on 27 March, 1960. Since the Potters had James later in their lives, he was their only child, and was pampered and cherished accordingly.

Around 1976, Fleamont and Euphemia took in their son's best friend, Sirius Black, who had run away from home at age 16, because his family hated him. They treated Sirius like a second son. Though Sirius stayed in the Potter home for only a year, eventually using money inherited from his uncle, Alphard Black, to buy his own flat, Mr and Mrs Potter always welcomed him over for Sunday dinner thereafter.

James later married the Muggle–born witch, Lily Evans. Shortly after their son's wedding, both Fleamont and Euphemia, who were advanced in age, succumbed to Dragon Pox, dying within days of each other.

 ** _James Potter (Iamus Poterius Flavius)_**

 _Parents_ : Fleamont Potter & Euphemia Potter, née Burke

 _Date of Birth_ : 27th of March, 1960

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : 31st of October, 1981

 _Place of Death_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Spouse_ : Lily J. Potter, née Evans (Lilia Poterius Evanus)

 _Children_ : Harry James Potter

James Potter, also known as Prongs, was a pure–blood wizard and the only son of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. He attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1971–1978, and was sorted into Gryffindor. When James started at Hogwarts, he met and became best friends with three fellow Gryffindor students: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. He also met Severus Snape, a Slytherin student with whom he became bitter rivals. During his seventh year, James was appointed Head Boy and began dating Lily Evans.

After graduating from Hogwarts, he married Lily and together they had a son, Harry James Potter, of whom he made Sirius Black the godfather. James, Lily, and their friends all fought in the First Wizarding War as members of the Order of the Phoenix; he and his wife defied Lord Voldemort three times. However, James and Lily were forced to go into hiding after a prophecy was made concerning Voldemort and their infant son. James and Lily were ultimately betrayed to Voldemort by one of their close friends (Peter Pettigrew).

As a result of this, James was tragically murdered by Voldemort on Hallowe'en in 1981, along with his wife while they were trying to protect their infant son.

In the year 1995, James' legal name was changed by his son to become Iamus Poterius Flavius, as Harry began assigning Roman–style names to his ancestors who didn't have one.

 **Peverell–Potter**

In 1994, Harry James Potter, the lone remaining descendant of the Poteria, Peverell, and Potter families, became the Lord of the Houses Peverell and Potter, and he melded them together to forge the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell–Potter, and has begun a new dynasty of the pure–blood lineage.

 ** _Harry James Potter (Hadrianus Poterius Iamus)_**

 _Parents_ : James Potter & Lily J. Potter, née Evans

 _Date of Birth_ : 31st of July, 1980

 _Place of Birth_ : Godric's Hollow, England

 _Date of Death_ : Alive

 _Place of Death_ : Alive

 _Spouse_ : Unmarried

 _Children_ : None

The current Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell–Potter, Harry James Peverell–Potter (his official, legal name) is the Lord Peverell–Potter and the founder, owner, and CEO of The Potter Group, a firm with several business venues, most notably being split into a Muggle branch and a magical branch.

Harry founded The Potter Group at age eleven, being the youngest human to have ever founded a company. He built it up from a team of about eight people, to employing well over fifty, and going from three specialisations to offering well over thirty services, from private investigations and legal and financial consulting, to owning the Potter Apothecary, Obscurus Books, and other businesses in the wizarding world.

In October of 1994, Harry was forced to enter the Triwizard Tournament. He competed in the first task and defeated his dragon, a Hungarian Horntail, but was barred from participation in the second task by virtue of being expelled from Hogwarts for aggravated assault on three students who were assaulting two Slytherin girls, the Newman twins. He represented the family in a court against the three boys who attacked the girls, and won the case by aggravating one of the defendants into irritating the Wizengamot court. He was later re–accepted into Hogwarts by popular demand from the people, the Daily Prophet, and by Lucius Malfoy from the Hogwarts Board of Directors as a way to gain favour with the rising star. He competed in the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament despite a handicap from being excluded from the second task, and won the Tournament by reaching the Triwizard Cup first.

In the summer of 1995, Harry began assigning legal Roman names to his ancestors who didn't have one, as a part of his effort to revitalise his illustrious ancestry and their glorious past.


	18. Chapter 17

**A Downwards Spiral**

 **June 3rd, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

Harry sat with Tracey, Blaise and Daphne at their desks in his room, and all were reading silently, with Harry's eyes roaming the pages of a rather nasty spellbook he had discovered in an abandoned room full of the most random things; chairs, books, things he could only assume were toys, broom sticks with broken shafts or bristles, tons of potion cauldrons with holes from corrosive concoctions, and a veritable ocean of other random things. Harry had idly been wandering the castle, and had stumbled upon the room on the seventh floor, though when he had returned the day after, it was gone. When he discovered what the book was, he quickly cut off the newer, less weathered cover of one of the nearby textbooks, did the same to the book he'd found interesting, and then switched the covers.

 _Lacero_ , he read, interested in where it might be going. _A dark variant of the severing charm, meant to sever flesh instead of inanimate objects. A cut from this curse is almost guaranteed to kill it's subject, as it is almost impossible to heal the wound through magic. In my experiments, though, I have discovered that it does nothing to prevent the muggle–way of stopping bleeding and the muggle treatment. It is begrudgingly that I must give at least some sort of praise to the filthy cattle: they are, indeed, genius with non–magical medicine._

His brows closed the distance between them, though, at the mention of the muggles.

"Daph, why is it even that the more… traditional pure–bloods look down on muggles?" he asked as he looked up at her. "I mean, I know there's the whole thing with them not being magical but… that can't be _it_ , right? There has to be more to it, no?"

"Not really," Daphne shook her head. "My father always told me that the blood purists hate the muggles exactly for that reason. Apparently, they don't need any further reason than not being able to wield magic. Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering," Harry muttered and put the book down on the table, crossed his arms, and looked into the thin air. "I have a… a hunch, I'd say, that I could be interested in a job at the government, but I just… I can't get over the whole 'muggles are animals' thing. Is it just with the purists, or is there that kind of racism in most of the society, too? I can't think of any time I've ever actually come across it, you know, except for Malfoy and his pack of retards."

Tracey and Blaise both snorted at the comment, and Daphne smiled warmly at him.

"Well, no, not really. Most wizards and witches are content to just ignore the subject altogether. They don't usually have a problem going into the muggle society, either, though I'd wager to say that they aren't quite capable of blending in."

"What about the Ministry, then?"

"Well, there are practically no muggleborn in the Ministry," Daphne explained. "My father tells me that they're fine with half–bloods, and they are open to letting in muggleborn if they're incredibly talented at what they're applying for. Someone like Granger could easily join the Ministry, but those two little Gryffindors, the brothers with the camera–"

"The Creevys," Harry corrected.

"The Creevys," she accepted the correction, "if they don't get their act together and become the top of their years, they won't have a chance in the Ministry."

"Hmm," Harry nodded and fell silent again.

 _ **Of course, that does mean you would have to put up with that filth.**_

Harry looked up with a raised brow, and his eyes widened when he saw a young man, no older than sixteen, wearing a black suit standing behind Tracey, a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't seem to notice anything, nor did Blaise or Daphne, even though he had clearly heard the man speak. The man had dark brown eyes and black hair that was done nicely, and his face… Harry couldn't help but think that, even with his usual preference for women when asked, the man looked beautiful. High cheekbones, strong, noble features, and most notably of all, a charming, amused half–smile, half–smirk… just like Harry's usual smile.

 _ **Hello, Harry**_ , he said with a dark and dangerous, yet charming and seductive voice. _**I was worried I might never see you again for a few weeks, there.**_

Harry looked around at the others, only to see that they hadn't heard the man, and with another small flash in his mind, he realised that the man had sounded strange. Not as if he was on the other side of the table, but as if he stood behind Harry, his mouth less than a centimetre from his ear, and it sounded from both ears at once. And Harry felt a small pang of anxiety, which was swiftly replaced with relief and ease.

 _So, you would eventually become Voldemort_ , Harry thought, certain that the apparition was nothing more than an image only he could see. Of course, he then remembered James telling him he was schizophrenic, and then everything clicked into place. _You're the remnant of the horcrux… and you're taking advantage of my mental illness to appear like to me like an illusion._

 _ **You're as sharp as you've ever been, Harry**_ , Tom Riddle said, a small gleam of joy in his eyes. _**Of course, now that I'm in your head… what do you think I could do to you? What no one else could?**_

With that, Riddle grabbed a nearby book and slammed it into the side of Tracey's head, and that, she very much reacted to.

"ARGH!" she called out and slapped the book away, knocking it out of Riddle's hand. She rubbed where the book had hit her, and then looked at Harry with betrayal in her eyes. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!?"

"I didn't do anything," Harry said with a frown, not understanding what happened, even as Riddle's smile widened.

"You're the only one who can do wandless magic, you prick!" Tracey shouted and got up. She then quickly ran out of the room, leaving Blaise to glare at Harry and Daphne to stare at him with wide eyes.

Harry's eyes, however, were glued to something around Tracey's chair, and she saw nothing but thin air. He apparently did, though, because he was sending a glare at whatever he saw.

"Stop it," he growled menacingly.

Riddle only laughed at that.

 _ **I didn't do anything, Harry. You did. It was your magic that lifted the book, and your magic that threw it at that poor, filthy half–blooded girl.**_

Harry's eyes widened, and then his eyes snapped to Daphne for just a moment, but fixed themselves on Riddle again.

 _What do you want?_

 _ **Excuse me?**_ Riddle taunted. _**I'm not sure I understand.**_

"What do you want?" Harry repeated again, aloud this time.

 _ **I want you dead, Harry**_ , Riddle chuckled. _**Was the death of your parents and the scar on your face not enough to tell you that much?**_

Harry gulped, and then looked at Daphne.

"Get out," he said.

"Harry, I do–"

"Just leave," Harry said again.

Daphne knew better than to argue, and with a few painful tugs at her heartstrings, she did as he told her to do, and left the room.

"So, what can I do for you to never do something like that again?" Harry asked at the thing only he could see, the thing that was in his head.

 _ **Jump out from the Astronomy Tower?**_ Riddle asked with a sarcastically hopeful smirk.

"Other than harming myself," Harry said with exasperation, "and those I care about."

 _ **I'm sorry, I was under the impression you**_ **didn't** _ **care about others.**_

"Times change, as do people. What do I need to do to make you stop?"

Riddle stepped around the table, slow and methodical steps taking him around to Harry, and when he came close, Harry noticed that the image didn't have a shadow either, nor could he hear his footsteps.

 _ **What are you willing to do?**_ Riddle asked and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, a hand he definitely felt, though it was as if someone had placed a block of ice on it. _**How far will you go to keep**_ **yourself** _ **from hurting those around you?**_

Harry didn't move an inch, nor did he speak. He didn't know what he was willing to do; he had no idea what the fragment of Voldemort's personality wanted, so how could he make a valuable offer?

 _ **Hmm, you really have changed since you got me back, haven't you? I see… oh, that was just laughable!**_ Riddle exclaimed, and Harry suddenly realised that Riddle was looking through Harry's memories. _**You're a quick one, aren't you? Far quicker than without me. What on Earth would you have done without me? Nothing, that's what.**_

Harry sat in his chair, and fell a pit open up in his chest. It was true, what Riddle said. Harry clearly remembered what he had been like without the horcrux. If that was what Harry would have been without the horcrux throughout his childhood… Harry would rather kill himself than be _that_ : dumb, retarded, moody, seeing and hearing things that weren't there, unable to focus on anything, mood flipping like a switch. James had been right; he wasn't really _Harry_ without Tom.

 _ **That's right, boy**_ , Riddle whispered as he leant down and spoke quietly in Harry's ear. _**You're nothing without me. You owe me… everything.**_

Harry looked up at Riddle, his chest heavy with a feeling he had never truly felt before, something he knew what was, and had hoped he would never have to feel.

Defeat.

"Tell me what to do," Harry whispered.

Riddle's wide smile lessened, and then it turned sympathetic.

 _ **Don't worry**_ , Riddle said and pulled Harry's head into his stomach and began stroking the boy's hair. _**I won't make you hurt those you care about. At least, not anymore. We all need pillars of support. You're still weak, so you still need others to be your pillars. But with my help, Harry**_ , Riddle paused and placed a finger under Harry's chin, making the boy look up into his eyes, where there was the faintest hint of red, _**you will need only yourself as a pillar. Your mind, your body, your magic, and yourself. With my help, you will become strong. I've seen all your dreams and ambitions, and they're all possible… but not without me.**_

Harry swallowed audibly, and with a profound difficulty, he nodded.

As quickly as the hallucination had appeared, it was gone. Riddle, or a shadow of him, had left him alone. He looked down into his hands, his eyes slowly taking a faint hue of red, before they faded into emerald green once more, a look of calm and serenity on his face, marred only by the faintest hint of dread.


	19. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:**

I have noticed quite a bit of dissatisfaction with the way the story is turning out, some of the arguments well–reasoned, and others just quite rude. The most noticeable complaint is that these past few chapters have been quite incoherent and uninteresting, and to those who think that: you're in the right to think that, it's your opinion. Some have also expressed a liking for the story. Again, your own opinion. However, to those who think that what I'm doing is nonsensical, let me extend you an olive branch:

I realise that it is quite a deviation from the original premise of the story, and I realise that many of you came specifically for that original premise and concept. I also realise that I made a rather large mistake in choosing the fourth year, Goblet of Fire, to begin this story, but I have **one** good reason for doing it: to me, the fourth year is the pivotal point at which everything in the original story starts going down–hill, and the war with Voldemort really takes hold and begins. The point of his resurrection is what I mean, specifically. I really wanted to start the story in the fifth year, but there were (in my opinion) too many things that needed to be resolved before I can really take it off in the fifth year. That is why I try to skip through as much of the events of Goblet of Fire as I can, and why it might seem incoherent. However, at the end of this specific chapter, there will be a more in–depth explanation, I promise. So, if you're willing to give the story another chance, please read this chapter, and then the _Author's Note_ at the end.

Thank you for your patience.

 **Getting Down To Business**

 **June 15th, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

"As soon as you drink it, you'll start going numb," James said and held a wooden bowl filled with a steaming hot liquid of a rose colour. "When you feel it befuddle your mind, that's the time to delve inside, alright?"

"Alright," Harry nodded. "What'll happen once I do?"

"You should find yourself in a place you know well. The woods we trained in, Meerlinda's chantry, somewhere with plenty of space. You might get lost, but whatever you do, don't get lost. You might be distracted, you might be led astray, but it is _your_ mind, and in the end, _you're_ in control."

Harry nodded as he accepted the bowl.

The two of them sat in the Forbidden Forest, the darkness of the night blanketing the area, save for the bonfire beside the two and the small fires surrounding them. A bandage wrapped around Harry's hand, and the scent of blood permeated the area from the many symbols he had bled on the ground, spoke to the nature of the ritual he was about to undertake, an old blood–rite from the Norse tradition of seiðr.

"I guess I'll see you when I return," Harry muttered, and then drank the hot liquid in one gulp.

It burnt quite a bit as he felt his tongue go numb from the heat, and he felt the hot liquid every inch it slid down his throat. He then sat and cleared his mind, waiting patiently for the buzz he knew was coming. It didn't take long, and when he felt it, he let everything go, and threw himself into the dark abyss of his own mind.

•••

"Harry! HARRY!" was the first thing Harry heard as he opened his eyes, lying on the forest floor.

"Did it work?" he muttered as he sat up and looked over at James… except James looked translucent. Like a ghost. Harry rolled out of the way and looked back, only to see himself in much the same way, lying on the ground where he had drunk the tea.

Harry shook himself and stood up. He looked around, and everything was still dark, but it seemed somehow brighter at the same time. It was as if he could see perfectly in the dark, at the cost of coloured vision, because the fire that burned next to him not only radiated no heat, but was also a dull, whiteish grey. Harry took a deep breath, and then started walking away from the fire, deeper into the Forbidden Forest that seemed to represent his mindscape. He heard the same calling again, but he knew it didn't come from James, because even as he looked back, James was just watching his body silently, occasionally looking around to look for any sign of danger with his wand in his hand.

Harry followed the sound of the calling, which sounded quite desperate, until something sped right through him, coming from behind him. The only thing he saw was a mane of bright, red hair running away from him. Harry set off in a sprint to keep up with the figure, who was surprisingly fast. He followed her for a few minutes, and then found her kneeling next to a crib, right in a clearing in the forest.

"Harry, be safe!" the figure whispered at the crib. "Harry, be strong! Mama loves you! Dada loves you!"

"Mum?" Harry asked, his heart beating quicker and quicker as he realised what he was witnessing. "Mum, it's me. Harry."

The figure turned around, revealing the emerald eyes Harry had looked back at in the mirror for over a decade when going by the calendar, but instead of the relief he thought she would have felt, she looked only terrified.

"Please don't hurt my baby, please!" she called out at him. "Please, take me instead!"

"What, Mum!?" Harry called out, a frown making it's way onto his face. "No, Mum, it's me! It's me, Harry!"

"I'll do anything, just don't kill my son!" she begged, now in tears.

"Mum, no!" Harry called out, but then his eyes widened in horror as he saw his own arm move upwards, his ebony wand held tightly in it. "NO!" he screamed as he grabbed it with his other hand, trying to force it back down, but it kept rising. "NO!"

Before he could register what happened, he heard himself utter the incantation that had changed Harry's life, and a green bolt of light left Harry's wand, collided with Lily's chest, and he watched in horror as his mother crumpled to the ground, dead on the spot.

"NO!" he screamed. "MOTHER!"

He couldn't stop himself as he slowly moved forwards, stepping over his mother's lifeless corpse, and peered down into the crib. In there wasn't a baby version of himself as he had expected, but a small, infantile form in the loosest sense of the term: pale, nothing but skin and bones, and an almost fully formed face as white as a bleached skull and with deep, piercing red eyes that bore into his very soul. The wicked little thing smiled at him.

" _ **I have seen your heart, Harry Potter,**_ " it said in a dark, wheezing voice, " _ **and it is mine.**_ "

This time, Harry didn't need an incentive, and he raised his wand at the neonatal, anthropomorphic _thing_.

"Avada Kedavra," he muttered, and watched as the green light enveloped the thing.

However, a slightly red sheen appeared where his curse had struck, on the forehead, and suddenly, he felt nothing but pain, agonising pain, and the sensation of being on fire. He screamed out until his voice became hoarse, and then screamed some more, until he suddenly found himself in a long corridor, seemingly from Hogwarts itself. He stood up, still reeling from the feeling of burning alive, and stumbled into one of the walls. He took a few moments to collect himself, and then pushed off the wall and walked down the corridor.

As he walked down it, he noticed that there were plaques on every door: _birth_ , _training_ , _kill_ , _murder_ , _love_ , _family_ , _sentence_ , _Meerlinda_ , _James_ , _Riddle_ , and finally, _Voldemort_. Harry knew what he had to do, but he was curious; something seemed to whisper to him, something coming from the door labelled _Meerlinda_. Harry couldn't help himself as he slowly moved towards the door, a hand outstretched. The hand slowly landed on the door, and he gave it a push. Suddenly, for just a moment, everything darkened, and when it brightened again, he was no longer in the corridor, but was rather standing in the centre of the reading room of Meerlinda's chantry beneath the streets of London.

"Harry!" he heard a woman's voice, one he would never forget. "Harry, I'm coming for you!"

The voice wasn't menacing or intimidating… it was comforting, reassuring… happy. Suddenly, a small figure with black hair ran past Harry, squealing in delight as a woman with hair as black as the midnight sky on a moonless night chased after him, bent over and her hands outstretched for him.

"Meerlinda, he'll never learn anything if you just give in to his every whim," Harry heard from a door behind him, and saw James standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe which led to the classroom, but he was smiling nonetheless.

"I'm gonna get ya!" the woman identified as Meerlinda exclaimed in a very comical tone. "I'm gonna get ya!"

"No, no!" the little boy with black hair and bright, green eyes squealed even more, laughing loudly as he ran on his short legs. "No!"

An instant later, the boy was swiftly grabbed and hoisted in the air, still laughing eagerly, and Meerlinda giggling as well, her dark, brown eyes and face shining with a special kind of joy, even as her pale, cold skin and unbeating heart marked her as a monster to the world. She then held the little boy close and kissed him on the cheek, making the little boy giggle as well.

Harry was only dimly aware that hot tears were rolling down his cheeks from his red eyes, rapidly cooling off as he viewed the memory he had forgotten long ago. However, he was reminded of something that James had once told him.

 _The ones we truly love never really leave us. The soul is a reflection of ourselves, and whenever we make an impression on someone, we leave just a small sliver of our soul with them, and the same goes in reverse. And those who leave a mark on us will always be remembered by our souls, even if our brains forget._

Harry wiped his eyes in his sleeve, and sniffed once, before he turned around. He headed towards the door leading to the streets of London, and just as he gripped the handle, a blood–curdling scream pierced his very essence. He slowly turned his head around, only to see all three of the people in the memory lying on the floor, blood pooling underneath them. His breath hitched as he saw the dark–clad figure standing above them, the _thing_ 's face obscured by the hood of the robe that seemed to be made of pure shadow dancing about him. The only part of him visible were his pallid hands, one of them carrying an ivory wand, and his eyes, gleaming red and focused on him. And even though he couldn't see the _thing_ 's mouth, he could tell it held a cruel smirk.

Harry turned around to open then door, only to find the _thing_ waiting behind the door.

" _ **There is no escape, Harry**_ ," it said calmly, but the joy and glee at the prospect of murdering him was obvious.

Harry slammed the door in it's face, and then he ran down through the room, past the three corpses, which were somehow no longer there, and into the library. He then began weaving in between the bookshelves, hoping to lose the _thing_ , only to turn another corner and see it straight in his path. Harry turned around and ran the other way, weaving another path through the library, his breathing increasing and becoming laboured. He rounded another corner, and found a latter on one of the bookshelves. Without thinking, he grabbed it and began climbing it. When he reached the top, however, his heart skipped a beat.

Looking over the library, which in truth was no more than thirty metres across in a circle, it seemed to stretch out into infinity, countless bookshelves standing at equal heights as far as the eye could see. Harry glanced down, only to find that he couldn't see the floor, a strange mist covering it as if he was on a mountain top. Harry felt his panic rise even further, but he made up his mind and began running, jumping from bookshelf to bookshelf. Looking behind himself, he found the _thing_ chasing him, seemingly flying over the bookshelves and glowing red eyes locked onto him with a hungry gleam. He dared not stop running, and could only imagine what would happen if the _thing_ caught up to him. In his desperation, however, he felt a sudden weight in his right hand, and he didn't need to look down to see what it was; the familiar, comforting splash of cold in his hand, followed by a rush of warmth up his arm and into his body told him all he needed to know.

"Reducto!" he shouted and flicked his wand at the _thing_.

The _thing_ 's eyes widened, and it had to swerve out of the way of the spherical mist of purple light that rushed towards it.

 _It dodged?_ Harry thought to himself. _If it dodged… that means it knows I can hurt it._

Harry stopped and turned around, facing the _thing_ rushing towards him.

"IGNEM INFERNALIS!" he roared and whipped his wand forwards, and a rush of eerie, diabolical, black fire burst forth, taking the shape of a gargantuan serpent. "PROTEGO DIABOLICA!"

The Fiendfyre coalesced around Harry in a circle, flickering wildly as the fire serpent rushed to attack the black–clad _thing_ chasing him. The _thing_ stopped and held up it's own bone–white wand.

 _It has to use its wand? So it's a perfect representation of Voldemort, then?_

 _ **You might be led astray, but it is your mind, and in the end, you're in control.**_

Harry felt the dread in his chest pull back, and a small, warm spark took its place.

 _This is_ _ **my**_ _mind._ _ **I'm**_ _in control._

Harry couldn't help the change in his expression, going from wide–eyed terror, to defiant rebellion.

 _Think, Harry. It has a certain effect on your mind, but it still needs its wand. That means that it has some knowledge about how to influence another's mind, but it doesn't realise the exact extent of its power. It is affected by your own power as well, and you also have agency in here._

Harry knelt down and watched as the thing slashed around its wand, trying to fight off the midnight–black serpent of Fiendfyre. Harry just needed a moment to catch his…

 _I don't have a physical body in here, so I shouldn't be constrained to any physical limitations._

All of a sudden, he felt his heart stop beating altogether, and his breathing stopped as well, yet he felt no different.

 _No need for anatomical functions in a mindscape, which also means I have no physical constraints. In that case…_

Harry sat back on his butt and folded his legs. He closed his eyes, and began focusing. His torso, visible by virtue of the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt, was previously unmarred and clean, but as he concentrated, the deep, dark red markings James had tattooed on his skin before the first task reappeared, and they began glowing a dim blue. He then opened his eyes, also glowing dimly with a blue light, which then slowly shifted to purple as he felt the vampiric blood in his veins heat up and tremble. He stood up, and with a slash of his wand, the black flames all disappeared, drawing the red eyes of the shade of Voldemort on him. Harry let go of his wand, which collapsed into a dull mist as it fell, and then he set off.

He charged at impossible speeds towards the shade, his mental construct of a body uninhibited by the limitations of physics and those inherent in the vampire blood in his veins, and his right fist, suddenly enveloped in bright fire which turned from orange to an eerie blue, and finally unholy black, slammed into the gut of the shade. It was sent flying backwards, and as it twisted itself to turn around in mid–air, it's eyes widened in shock at seeing Harry behind it, a look of fury and anger etched into his face. The teenager raised his leg, also enveloped in black Fiendfyre, and slammed it straight into Tom's face. Tom's head was sent crashing straight down into the bookshelf, and the force of the strike sent him flying downwards, practically cutting the bookshelf in half as he went. He crashed into the floor with a howl of pain, dark and piercing throughout the mentally constructed library, until a force of unimaginable power struck his back, and with a final, gut–wrenching scream, the apparition exploded into black mist, which shifted in the air, and Harry reached out, sticking his hand into the middle of it. The black fire around his hand seemed to both burn the smoke–like substance, but also pulled it in, and as the last traces of it disappeared, so did the flames, the tattoos on his torso, and the glow in his eyes, which faded to their usual emerald green.

A true, genuine smile of victory crept on to his lips, and he turned around, only to find the door leading out of the library right there. He sighed in relief, and grabbed the handle, and suddenly found himself in the corridor of Meerlinda's subterranean chantry once more. However, while the corridor had been very dimly lit when he entered, now the once–flickering lights had become stable, and gave off much more light. And that little amount of psychological symbolism was all he needed to know that he had done what he had thought was impossible when he gave in to Riddle. After all, how do you plan to kill something when that something has access to every thought you've ever thought and every memory you've ever made? Who knows what you're thinking, even as you're only conceiving of the very thought?

By thinking about doing something else… such as achieving an animagus form.

Harry smirked as he walked down the corridor, looking for a very specific room. And it only took him a minute to find it: _Training_.

Harry laid his hand on the door handle, and when his vision brightened once again from the black transition, he found himself in the forest. The Forest. A forest James had taken him to in Alaska when he was only eight years old. He could vaguely hear James talking behind him, and he could certainly make out the sound of the stick his younger self was spinning with his bow to make enough friction to make a fire.

He needn't revisit that memory, however. He remembered it quite clearly. Instead, he started walking, looking around for signs of any animals. Anything at all. And the answer came to him as he was walking through the forest, the dead leaves on the ground slightly crunching beneath his shoes from the light frost that covered everything. A light screech from above him. His eyes wandered up, and his eyes fell on a majestic bird, a bald eagle, peering down at him with intelligent, emerald eyes and jet–black feathers. It screeched at him again, before it took flight, and Harry set off in a dead–sprint to keep up with it.

He ran across the forest floor, his eyes once in a while going up to keep track of the bird as it swerved in between the trees. He felt lighter and lighter as he followed it, until his feet stopped making noises when they touched the ground. He was acutely aware of the cliff he was running at, but trusting in himself and his magic, Harry kept running, straight off the cliff. The bird, with a final screech, swopped down to his level and flew straight into his back as he was falling, and didn't reappear on the other side. Instead, Harry spread his arms, and as he fell, he turned back up towards the sky, flapping his new wings, and screeched loudly, before everything went black once more.

•••

 **Author's Note (Continued):**

I would like to start this section of the Author's Note with answering a few questions that I've seen a few times.

 _1\. Why doesn't Harry just find someone who deserves to die and kill them to split his soul?_

Fair question. Here's why: **Because they _deserve_ it**. In my mind, to split one's soul, one has to kill purely out of selfish gain (and with the Killing Curse, but that's another matter entirely). If he killed someone who _deserves_ it, then it isn't selfish–gain; it's justice/revenge, and to a lesser extent sparing someone else's feelings. This is kind of a no–brainer to me, but then again, this is my story, so what I think might be obvious is irrelevant. One has to do it _solely_ for _selfish gains_ , otherwise it's null and void.

 _2\. Not as much a question, but rather an all–round confusion as to the horcrux–business and the mental illnesses._

Here's the thing. In my mind, a horcrux without a vessel is like a fish on land, or a drowning human. Parts of it die off, one at a time. In this case, the sudden removal of the horcrux within Harry caused him to instantly fall into a kind of mental vacuum, if you will, where he was without all the support he had built for himself in his subconscious, as he had relied on the personality traits of Tom Riddle to stabilise himself for what essentially equated to around a century.

However, as it was revealed to him that he was both bipolar _and_ schizophrenic, he had a short moment of clarity where he wanted that bit of the horcrux back, seeing as the part of it that anchors Voldemort had died off, but it was still slowly dying off entirely. When he got it back, however, "Schizo–Tom" gained all Harry's memories and knowledge from the time where it had been separated from the boy, and it realised that Harry had been hallucinating a boy stalking him. Using this fact, Schizo–Tom found a way to make himself appear to Harry, which it had previously thought impossible.

Now, someone was also very displeased that Harry just "rolled over" to Schizo–Tom. Well, what would you do if that construct of your own mind, which knows everything that you do, knows every single thought that you think or dream you have, at the same time as you do, wanted you to do something? It knows every thought of defiance you have, and punishes you by using your body or magic to hurt those around you, the blame to which can only be placed on you, and you can't tell anyone, because it knows when you think about telling someone, and then punishes you… **again**. Harry has regained his reasoning capabilities, meaning that he isn't an idiot; he realised within moments that it was a fight he couldn't win, especially not by thinking about it.

Which leads to the ending of this chapter. Harry didn't think about fighting Riddle in his own mind, but he did think that an animagus form, or at least attempting to find one, might help, as the animagus is a reflection of the witch or wizard. Killing off Schizo–Tom was a bonus; _**achieve maximum results with minimum effort**_.

 _3\. Harry is so dark and 'monstrous', what's up with that?_

Tom Riddle. That's what's up with that. At least, that's my thinking at this point.

I hope that these AN's, clear up some things for you, and if you still don't want to read this story any further, I thank you for sticking with it as long as you could. I value your insights and thoughts, however short and brutally honest some of them were. But, if you're willing to give this story another shot, I promise that with the ending of this chapter, Harry is effectively back on track, and I am going back to the base premise of the story: Business Mogul Potter, at his finest.

 _Au revoir_ , thank you for your reading, and I hope that you will continue to leave comments, reviews, and critiques; a writer cannot grow without it, and I do want to grow.


	20. Chapter 19

**The End of the Tournament**

 **June 24th, 1995**

 **Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

"Welcome, all of you," Ludo Bagman roared in his magically raised voice, "to the final task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

Thunderous applause rang throughout the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, on which had been grown a gargantuan maze of hedges that swayed lightly in a non–existent breeze, as if they were alive. The three schools were gathered on the stands, and a select group of people stood down near the entrance to the maze. Fleur Delacour was stood next to Maxime and a girl who looked identical to her besides being a few years younger, Krum next to Karkaroff, and Cedric Diggory was accompanied by his father, Amos Diggory from the Ministry's _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_. Harry stood off to the side beside his adopted father. They were all wearing a set of pants and sports top. Fleur was wearing a slightly fluffy tracksuit, Krum wore dark brown pants with a tan shirt decorated with a red two–headed eagle, Cedric wore a black–and–yellow track suit, and Harry wore black sweatpants and a black hoodie with the Potter–Peverell crest of two P's inside the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on the front and 'Potter' written in cursive white across his shoulder blades.

"In first place, we have Victor Krum from Durmstrang!"

More roaring applause from the audience.

"Following him with a twenty–second delay is the magnificent Beauxbatons' Fleur Delacour!"

More applause.

"After her, by fifteen seconds, is Hogwarts' very own Cedric Diggory!

Every Hogwarts student and teacher cheered, though the other schools less so. Harry found it just a little curious.

"And finally, with a delay of thirty seconds, the Defender of Pretty Girls and Bane of Bullies," Harry snorted, knowing now that Ludo put quite the stock in the news, "The Boy Who Lived, HARRY POTTER!"

Everyone stood up and roared in cheer, sending Harry reeling from the sound. He hadn't expected the things he had done to give him _such_ a good reputation, but it seemed that news of his actions had spread throughout the three schools. Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts student alike were cheering and applauding him, and some even gave wolf–whistles. He could only faintly hear one or two people booing, though they went quiet very quickly. Harry couldn't help the astonished smile that spread on his lips, and he raised his hand at the gathered crowd.

 _This is me. Not my parents, not their sacrifice, not the failed Killing Curse. Me._

He sent a glance at James, who looked softly at him while politely applauding the young man as well. Harry chuckled, and looked out over the gathered crowd again.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen!" Ludo shouted again. "These four stellar champions are going into this maze, at the centre of which lies the glorious Triwizard Cup! Mr Krum, get ready!"

Viktor walked over to the entrance of the maze, his eyes locked on the end of the beginning corridor.

"Ready! Set! GO!"

Viktor was off like a bolt of lightning, and vanished from sight. Harry started shaking his extremities, warming them up for running, and he flicked his wand into his hand, enjoying the brief surge of icy cold before warmth flowed through his veins. He looked down at the piece of ebony lovingly. It was his dearest possession, a treasure beyond anything else. As long as he had his wand, he felt, anything else could be regained. His company, his fortune, his health. With his wand, anything was possible.

"Mr Potter!"

Harry looked up, noticing that the other two champions had already disappeared.

"Yes, I'm coming," he said and walked over to the opening of the maze.

"If I may give you a few tips–" the announcer said after swiftly ending the voice–enhancement charm.

"No, you may not," Harry said and glared at the man. "You're supposed to be an impartial party. I bet you didn't offer any of the others tips."

Bagman looked as if he had been slapped across the face, but he just stepped away and re–cast the spell.

"Ready?" his voice was more uncertain this time. "Set. Go!"

As soon as the final word began, Harry was off, running down the first corridor in a dead sprint. The maze entrance closed behind him, and suddenly all sound from the outside was silenced, as if the maze was inside a dome that blocked all sound.

 _Neat_.

Harry took a sharp right, and then followed along a curved path. He quickly came across something he couldn't recognise, though he noticed that it had what looked like stingers in both ends, and seemingly had no head. He snapped up his wand and sent a bolt of golden lightning flying. It struck the creature, but bounced right off and into the hedge beside it.

"Fucking shell," Harry muttered.

He sent another bolt of light, this one purple, streaking at the _thing_ , whatever kind of experimental crossbreed it was, and the shell cracked open and fell off, eliciting a high–pitched screaming noise from the beast. He then sent a blue light at the exposed flesh, and the thing blasted into blood and gore. It was only with a weak, last–second barrier that Harry avoided getting it on himself. He then ran over it and went along path.

He ran for a little while before using a neat little spell James had taught him to see the direction of North to orient himself, and then adjusted his course. Once in a while, when he struck a dead–end, he flicked out just a small ball of bright, sky–blue Fiendfyre to burn through the hedge, and then jumped through. He was getting tired of constantly being led astray, especially when he came across the biggest fucking spider her had ever seen. Now, Harry wasn't particularly arachnophobic, but when a spider's body was higher off the ground than your head, it was a clear violation of Nature's contract to not make nightmare–fuel like that. Harry had immediately gone back the way he came and burnt his way through a few hedges, until he came upon something quite fascinating, if somewhat intimidating.

"Hmm, a champion," the thing purred with a deep, smooth and seductive voice. "Well met, young one."

A gigantic monstrosity with the body of a lion, clad in feathers, hind legs like those of a goat, a prehistoric–size king cobra for a tail, humongous wings extending from it's shoulders, and a female face edged by feathers and two rows of incredibly sharp teeth hidden behind luscious, dark lips. It was both disturbing and beautiful at the same time.

"You're a sphinx," Harry breathed out in wonder.

"Indeed, young man," the beast returned and slowly, seductively, and threateningly began swaying as it moved towards him. He noticed that he could walk right under it without touching the thing's belly. "I am going to ask you a riddle, and you're going to answer it. If you cannot, I will let you leave to find another way. If you answer falsely, I shall devour you and savour the taste. If you answer true, I will let you pass."

"Alright, then," Harry said and took a defensive stance, just in case he guessed wrong. "Lay it on me."

"If I have cities, but no houses; mountains, but no trees; and water, but no fish… what does that make me?"

Harry stared at her, his eyes narrow in deep thought.

 _City without houses, mountains without trees, water without fish… A city without houses isn't a city, and mountains and trees have no real connection. Not all bodies of water have fish, but all have life in some manner_. Harry growled a little. _City without house… damnit, okay… Cities,_ _ **but no**_ _houses… so it's an indica–_

"A map!" Harry exclaimed and looked at the female face of the sphinx. "You have cities, plural, but no houses at all, so it's not a _real_ city, it's an indicator that a city is there! You show mountains because they determine travel routes, but you don't have to show every tree when you can just outline the edge of the forest! And you don't draw fish when you mark out the shores of a lake or ocean!"

"You have answered true, young one," the sphinx said with an almost pleased tone. "You may pass."

She stood up, and Harry gave her a nod as he ran between her four legs. As he came out the other side, she laid back down to wait for another champion. Harry ran and ran, and he saw a silvery blue gleam in the foggy distance. He felt a skip of his heart, and pushed his legs harder. He came right up to the cup, but as his hand was mere centimetres from it, a sudden jolt of pain sparked in hi fingers, and just as it did, he twisted his body and jumped to the ground, skidding a good metre across the grassy floor. His heart was beating wildly, and his breathing heavy as he slowly stood up, his eyes locked on the cup and his brow furrowed in suspicion. He then heard footsteps from the path opposite the one he had come from himself. He looked down, and saw Cedric run towards him.

"Cedric, don't touch the cup!" Harry called out and held out his hand.

Cedric's eyes widened in surprise, but he flicked his wand in Harry's direction, sending a small ball of light hurling towards him.

"I MEAN IT CEDRIC, STOP!" Harry roared out, and his eyes glowed red as he forced his vampire's gaze onto the other boy's eyes.

The Hufflepuff fell to the ground, his legs not responding to him.

"What'd you do!?" the other boy called out.

"Don't touch it," Harry said and went back to staring at the cup. "I don't know what it is, but something feels off about it."

Cedric calmed down a few moments later and stood up, suddenly regaining the use of his legs. He walked up to Harry, his earlier instinct to hex the younger boy forgotten.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Harry shook his head as he leant close and studied it thoroughly. "Can you check it for any kind of enchantment?"

Cedric nodded and lifted his wand and slowly waved it over the cup.

"It's a portkey," he said and lowered his arm again. "Probably to send us back out."

"It can't be that simple," Harry shook his head. "My magic reacted to it. Something's wrong with it. Can you see where it would take us?"

"No, but I think my father might," Cedric shook his head. "And if not him, then Professor Dumbledore."

Harry nodded, and then waved his wand, conjuring a very thick pillowcase, which he held open.

"Levitate it into the pillowcase," Harry said. "I'm not taking any chances."

"Don't you think you're overacting a bit?" Cedric asked with a frown.

"I just might be, but I'd rather not find out by grabbing it," Harry shot him a look.

"Alright," the Hufflepuff muttered and lifted his wand once again.

Before he could do anything, a blue light flashed from behind them, casting their shadows on the opposite hedge wall, and Harry jumped out of the way. Cedric collapsed into the pedestal, making the cup tip, and it was about to fall on the boy. Without thinking, Harry reached out and caught the cup before it could take the boy anywhere, only to feel himself sucked through an unyielding rubber tube.

•••

Harry landed roughly on the ground and groaned a little, before he released the portkey. But there was no cheering; only an eerie silence. As he opened his eyes, he immediately saw a few headstones, and knew he definitely wasn't at Hogwarts. Harry scrambled up and onto his feet, clutching his wand tightly. A shadow seemed to move about somewhere beyond some headstones, and Harry crouched and rolled into cover behind one of them. He pulled his mokeskin pouch out of one of his hoodie's pockets and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak. He flipped it over and clasped it before pulling up the hood, rendering him perfectly invisible. He then whispered an incantation and waved his wand at himself, muffling his movement to near–silence.

Still crouched, he moved from headstone to headstone, not taking any chances. The Cloak rendered him perfectly invisible, but it wasn't a shield; he could still be struck with an attack. He quickly summoned the Cup and quickly held up the pillowcase. It flew right into it, and he quickly jammed the thing down his incredibly wide–mouthed mokeskin pouch. He then stuffed the pouch back into his pocket as he snuck around the centre, where a cloaked figure had dragged out a humongous cauldron.

"Where is he!?" Harry heard a wheezing, dark voice asked angrily, and he immediately recognised it from his Spirit Journey to awaken his animagus form.

"I don't know, master," came another voice, one which Harry could place as coming from the cloaked figure. "The Cup was activated."

Harry merely sat and watched as the cloaked figure came looking where the portkey had dropped him off. Harry slowed his breathing and pressed himself tightly against the headstone, which was thankfully quite sturdy. The cloaked person moved around where Harry sat, and the boy held his breath, calmly watching as the person, which he could now see was a woman, walked right past him. Harry didn't dare breathe again until he knew she was at least ten metres away from him.

He watched the person closely, and then took a gamble as he quietly scrambled closer and ducked behind another headstone. The woman whipped around, letting Harry know she had heard him, and his heart rate picked up by just a few beats. She squinted over in his general direction, and then drew her wand as she slowly edged closer. She moved past Harry, missing him by just a centimetre or two, and then, without warning and quick as a viper, he struck into action.

First, he flicked his wand and sent hers flying into the distance. He then punched her in the gut, and as she bent over, he kneed her in the face. He then wrapped his arm around her throat and squeezed, holding his wand up to her throat. He shrugged off the hood of his cloak, making him a disembodied head with disembodied arms as they peeked out from his parted Cloak.

"Who are you?" Harry asked in a dark, menacing voice.

He hadn't expected the woman to chuckle, however strangled it came out.

"Hm hm hm, itty Potter's learned to hide, has he?" she asked with an amused voice.

"If you want to live, tell me!" he growled in her ear.

"The master wouldn't like that," she teased him.

"If I kill you, you can't serve the master anymore, now can you?" Harry whispered. "Tell me who you are, and you might live to serve your master another day."

"Think that trick'll work on me, ickle little Harry, hmm? Maybe I need to teach you want loyalty means," she muttered, and suddenly a hand was resting on his crotch, rubbing it slowly. "Loyalty is what allows us to endure… pain."

Without a sign of danger, the hand grasped him and squeezed hard, and Harry groaned in pain and was forced to his knees, releasing the woman. Quick as a viper herself, she twisted around and kneed him in the crotch for good measure, making Harry double over and plant his face in the grass. He then felt a boot's heel placed on the back of his head and was twisted around, eliciting even more pain.

"Little baby Potter should probably learn not to underestimate women, either," she _cackled_.

 _Obviously a madwoman_.

Harry reached up and grabbed her boot, pulling it from his head, but just as he lifted it to look up at her, the other one crashed into his face, making his nose sting and become warm, before blood began rolling out of it.

 _Damnit_.

He quickly muttered 'Episkey' and rolled away. His nose set with an audible pop, and as he stood up, the woman was standing up several metres away as well, her wand now in hand. She sent a purple flame streaking at him with a wave of her wand, and Harry used the technique he had discovered with James to slice it in half as it was in front of him. He then whipped his own wand and sent a few black ropes flying at her. She deftly side–stepped them and sent a red light at him, and he batted it away with his wand. Harry then jumped back behind cover, pulled his hood back up, and roused his blood to obscure him from humans, just for good measure. He slowly and quietly crept around the central area, hiding behind gravestones, and narrowly dodging the blasting curses she sent at the various stones with glee.

"Bellatrix! Catch him!" the dark voice of Voldemort called out weakly.

"Yes, master!" the woman called back and then cackled as she began running and dancing around, blasting stone after stone.

 _Bellatrix… Lestrange? I thought she was in Azkaban. I need to get back to Sirius._

His eyes then landed on a black bundle of cloth laid next to the huge cauldron, almost like one would swaddle a baby. He then remembered the state the infantile, twisted body of Voldemort he had seen in his Journey.

 _A little body like that… could it be a homunculus? A temporary body? Then what ab_ – he had to dodge another random blasting curse, and sought shelter behind a mausoleum, _then what about the cauldron? Mmm… too great lack of information. Maybe… no, I need to destroy that body._

Harry edged around the mausoleum, only to duck back behind it when a stray blasting curse narrowly missed him and his Cloak. He checked to make sure she was firing in another direction before he scuttled back to the circle–like formation of headstones, and then moved over towards the black cloth bundle.

"Come out, Harry!" the woman cackled madly. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Harry sighed and steeled himself. Then he stood up, and aimed his wand at the woman. He flicked it once, and her insane laughter was abruptly cut off… just like her head, which fell from her neck and landed on the ground. Her body crumpled to the ground unceremoniously, and Harry pulled the hood off. He then walked over to the bundle and peered inside, and had to grimace at the just as twisted form he saw within as he had seen in his mindscape. Red, reptile–like eyes stared angrily up at him.

"Bella!" it called out. "BELLA!"

"Sorry, I think she cot carried away and lost her head a little," Harry said as he stared down at the _thing_. "So… you're Voldemort."

The homunculus stared up at him and narrowed it's eyes.

"Indeed. And you are Harry Potter," the thing spat. "You should have died fourteen years ago."

"That, I can't argue with," Harry agreed. "But I didn't… so here we are."

"What are you waiting for!?" Voldemort cried out. "Don't you want revenge!?"

"Not particularly," Harry said and shook his head, before he sat down on a nearby rock without losing sight of the small body. "I thought I would… but I don't. Not really, anyway."

"Hmm, fool," Voldemort said, strangely calming down a little. "You've murdered my most faithful servant, and yet you don't want to kill me."

"I don't want to, but I will anyway, before I leave this graveyard," Harry shrugged and looked around. "Where is this, anyway?"

"Little Hangleton. The place where my muggle father lived with his family. In that very house on the hill, as a matter of fact."

Harry looked up at the only hill he could see, and saw a smaller mansion sitting there.

"Did you know him well?"

"Well enough. He abandoned my mother, Merope of the Ancient and Noble House of Gaunt, a pure–blooded scion, and left her to die in the muggle world."

"So you killed him," Harry nodded. "I suppose that makes sense in a homicidal way. You grew up in an orphanage, then?"

"I did," Voldemort confirmed. "But why do you want to know all this? Why not just get it over with?"

Harry sat on the stone for a while, lost in thought as Voldemort waited for his answer.

 _He's trying to figure me out_.

"I just thought that… I could make some sense of why you killed my parents. If I understood you. Why you would make Horcruxes," Voldemort's eyes widened at the mention of the word. "Yes, I know about them. But… I'm willing to make a deal with you. I'm willing to make you an offer you can't refuse."

Voldemort looked suspicious.

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm a businessman," Harry smirked mirthlessly. "Making deals is what I do. Will you hear me out?"

Now it was Voldemort's turn to think quietly.

"I'm listening."

"This, getting me into the tournament as one long, elaborate scheme to kill me… never again. You don't come after me, you don't kill those I associate with, you don't interfere with my businesses in any way… and in return, I won't stop you from getting another of your fanatics to give you a body back, I won't chase down your other Horcruxes, and I don't get in the way of _your_ business. We just… stay out of each other's way, completely. Without exception, and if we have reason to meddle, we at least give the other a notice about it, okay?"

Voldemort looked shocked.

"You would do that… even though I killed your parents?"

"Don't get me wrong, I will kill that body," Harry said and gestured at the homunculus. "You got me into all this mess to begin with, I deserve at least that retribution. But, you being you, and from all the things I've heard about you, I don't think I could manage to find all your Horcruxes in my lifetime, even if I began looking when I get back. And sure, I could keep finding and killing you when you try to resurrect, but I would be stuck doing that until my dying day, and I've better things to do. So ye, I would do that, even for the one who killed my parents. But if you agree to my deal, when you can finally hatch another plot to get a body back, I won't come knocking. I won't raise a finger if you kill Dumbledore, I won't bat an eye if you start slaughtering muggleborn. But you stay away from myself and my friends, you hear? And, as a bonus and sign of good faith, I won't hurt any Death Eater who isn't trying to hurt me or my friends. Deal?"

Voldemort sighed and looked resigned.

"At least be quick about it," he finally said.

"You got it," Harry said and stood up. "I'd shake your hand, but… I don't want to."

"I think I understand," Voldemort muttered darkly as he glared up at the boy.

Harry levelled his wand at the homunculus.

"Avada Kedavra," he uttered, and a green light shot out of his wand, struck the homunculus, and the thing went limp instantly.

Harry sighed, and then pulled the Triwizard Cup out of the mokeskin pouch.

 _At least he won't be completely suspicious of me now_.

Harry smirked and reached inside the pillowcase.

 _As if he would ever uphold a deal with me any longer than it becomes inconvenient for him. He's going to conspire to break our deal, just as I will be. Let the games begin, and may the best wizard win_.

He then touched the cup and disappeared from Little Hangleton, leaving behind two dead bodies and a multitude of broken headstones.

•••

Harry landed roughly on the ground once more, and growled in irritation as he tumbled off his feet. He'd just decided that portkey was his least favourite way of travel.

"HARRY!" came an abrupt shout, and Harry only managed to recognise Sirius before his sight went _black_ from being smothered in the man's jacket.

"M' pfne," Harry mumbled and clapped Sirius on the shoulder, who released him almost as quickly as he had grabbed him. "I said 'I'm fine'."

"What happened!?" his godfather rambled as he looked the boy over, his left hand holding the boy's cheek and his right placed on his godson's shoulder. "Are you alright, are you hurt, do you ne–"

"Honestly, Sirius, I'm fine," Harry said. "The portkey just misplaced me for a few minutes."

"I thought you said something was off about it," came another voice, and Harry looked up to see Cedric.

"I wasn't wrong, I ended up in some random graveyard," Harry smirked. "Took me a little to figure out what'd happened, but the Cup did take me back here when I touched it again… after a few times bouncing around, though. I think it's faulty."

"Well, that's good to hear," Dumbledore said with a kind smile and tapped the Cup with his wand, which Harry noted looked identical to the Elder Wand, ending the portkey enchantment. "Congratulations, Harry. You're the Triwizard champion."

Roars of excitement filled the air, and Harry suddenly became very aware of the fact that hundreds of people were watching. He struggled to his feet, his head still spinning from the portkey, but waved and smiled nonetheless.

"I've discovered that I hate portkeys," Harry leant in and muttered in Dumbledore's ear, who smiled and chuckled.

"It takes a certain adjustment to get used to," the old wizard commented. "You've done your family legacy proud, Harry. I hope it will continue from here."

"As do I, Albus," Harry said and held out his hand. "As do I."

Dumbledore shook the offered hand gently. Harry and Dumbledore smiled out at the crowd and at the camera operated by Rita Skeeter's photographer, the flare almost blinding Harry for a few seconds.

That night was a night of glory and backroom dealings, just the way Harry found the most exciting. His smile broadened even more, and he was thankful that he was the only _living_ soul that knew the reason behind it.

Let the games begin.


	21. Chapter 20

**The First Repeal of Many**

 **July 3rd, 1995**

 **Ministry of Magic, London**

Harry and Daphne stood outside the black door leading to the Wizengamot chamber. Harry was reading over pieces of paper, studying them closely up until they were supposed to go inside.

"You've memorised it several times over, now," Daphne sighed and smiled a little. "It'll be fine, Harry."

Harry sighed as well, and closed his black leather folder.

"I know, I just… I _need_ this to go through. Innocent people suffering from severe curses, and who didn't choose their parents are suffering from this. _Remus_ is suffering. This _has_ to work."

"If it doesn't, we can try again," she said reassuringly and took his unoccupied hand with her own. "We can always try again. And again, and again, until those old farts," Harry snorted at that, "realise that it's time for them to step down and let the next generation take their turn, just as we have to eventually give our next generation the chance to shape our society. If not today, then maybe in a month, or a year, or a decade, but these old people will eventually have to step down, and then you only have our own generation to contend with."

"I ever tell you how much I appreciate your advice?" he asked and glanced at her coyly.

"Not until now," she said and leant closer.

"Thanks," he muttered and closed the distance.

It was a short, sweet kiss, and they both smiled when they pulled away.

"I like this you much better," she said. "Whatever James did, tell him I'm pleased with the result."

"Ha, I will," Harry exclaimed with a chuckle.

The door next to them suddenly opened and an older man poked his head out.

"They are ready to see you, Lord Peverell–Potter and Heiress Greengrass."

"We're coming," Harry said and released her hand to offer her his arm.

Daphne gladly took it, and they confidently strode inside the circular room arm–in–arm.

"Lord Harry James Potter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell–Potter," the Warlock in Chief, a certain Griselda Marchbanks, called out as the two teenagers stopped in the centre of the courtroom. "You have requested a meeting for discussing the alterations to existing legislation under the issue of 'lycanthropes and half–human, half–creature individuals', is this correct?"

"It is, Chief Warlock," Harry nodded.

"And you have decided exactly what piece of legislation you propose to alter?"

" _Pieces_ , Chief Warlock, as in plural," Harry said and opened his leather folder as Daphne released him. "First, I would like to address a quite particular piece of legislation that, if I am being quite honest, is horrendous and inhumane." A few whispers broke out in the ranks. "The anti–werewolf legislation titled ' _Lycanthropic Bill of Rights_ ' is, quite frankly, an utter sham."

"Hm, hmm," a voice annoying enough for Harry to seriously consider throwing the Killing Curse at random, cleared it's throat. "I'm not certain if you are aware of this, Mr Pot–"

"Lord Peverell–Potter, Madam Undersecretary," Harry interrupted the woman and looked up at her with barely–concealed disgust. "I'm well aware of the fact that it was you who wrote this bill, Madam Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge. You drafted, cleaned, and then proposed this bill in mid–1993, and for reasons that I simply cannot comprehend, it was passed. You titled it as a bill of rights, but there is nothing other than anti–werewolf hate–speech put to paper in this," he waved a stapled stack of papers around, indicating he was holding the very thing he was talking about. "In accordance with the 'rights'," he said with a mouthful of sarcasm, "outlined in this bill, 'an individual suffering from the unfortunate condition of lycanthropy may not be under employment in the week leading up to and following a full moon'. Please tell me you understand what this means?"

"It was a bill to ensure the security of innocent people the lycanthropic individual would have otherwise surrounded themselves with, Mr Potter," Umbridge said in her acidly sweet voice. "Besides, do you honestly believe that you, a child, have the experience that is necessitated by the ability to write legislation?"

"It means that werewolves cannot hold employment in the magical society, as Regulation Four of the ' _Magical Code of Labourers' Rights_ ' clearly states that ' _a contract between employer and employee may cover a period of no shorter than one calendar month, so forth as the potential employee is physically, emotionally, and mentally capable of performing the required labour that the position would require_ '. Since Section Two, Paragraph Eight of Madam Umbridge's legislation states that someone suffering from lycanthropy cannot be allowed to legally _hold_ employment for two weeks of the month, they _cannot_ have jobs at all!"

"Mr Potter, did you hear what I said?" Umbridge asked louder, clearly not liking being ignored.

"Do you not see what she has done?" Harry turned around and looked over then entire crowd gathered. "She has made it so that dozens of people in the British Isles have to mingle with the Muggles to be able to afford to even _live_! And I have seen the Muggle Studies at Hogwarts; it's laughable! I grew up with Muggles, and I have no idea what the teacher is talking about!" he couldn't help the small smile at the end, and there were indeed a few hushed chuckles from the Wizengamot.

"Mr Potter, I will not be ignored!" Umbridge suddenly exclaimed, her face red and her head twitching slightly.

"Until you learn my name and title," Harry pointed up at her with a serious expression, "you will."

Harry noticed Madam Amelia Bones from the DMLE chuckle into her fist, her eyes flitting between Harry and Umbridge.

"Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Harry called out and looked at her. "Do you know how many werewolves there are in the British Isles?"

"We have a register, but it's been quite a few years since I've looked at it," she answered as soon as she collected herself from her quiet laughter.

"Make an educated guess."

"I would say… seventy. Maybe eighty."

"And yet, my source who is a werewolf himself, has claimed that there is well over two hundred people like him," Harry addressed the crowd once more, eliciting furious whispers and quiet conversations from them. "Two hundred werewolves not on the werewolf registry. Why do you think that is?"

"They are criminals, plain and simple!" Umbridge called out, seemingly growing desperate. "They refuse to abide the laws, and so they lead destructive lifestyles of crime!"

"They aren't criminals because they want to be," Harry said, calming down, and Daphne could clearly hear the sympathy that now laced his voice. "They're criminals because they can't live amongst their own otherwise; wizards and witches, humans one and all who suffer from a curse they had no choice in having. I assume you've all heard of the Holocaust."

There was silence in the courtroom.

"Not a single one of you?" Harry asked, becoming angry once more. "Nazi soldiers rounding up Jews by the millions and executing them simply for being Jews. What you're doing, right now and right there… this is how the Holocaust _started_. If you keep giving in to a power–hungry madwoman, you will have a rebellion on your hands! Hundreds of werewolves joining the cause of the infamous Fenrir Greyback because he promises them freedom from the likes of _that_!" he pointed at Umbridge once more. "On the night of the full moon, they will make sure that they're close to your families! They will infiltrate the ministry, and they will kill and turn all of you! Because when you push a person far enough, they will shed all semblance of humanity to earn back their freedom! It happened in Cuba and Haiti with the Slave Rebellions, the Mujahideen in Afghanistan fighting back against the Soviet Invasion by flaying the Soviet soldiers alive and leaving them alive for their friends to kill out of mercy! You are repeating history with a far deadlier foe than they! The Soviet Invasion was estimated to last for a few months, half a year at most, but it ended up lasting for years because the Mujahideen used guerrilla tactics to their advantage, and the werewolf population will do the same!"

"Shut your mouth, you insolent, filthy half–blood!" Umbridge suddenly screamed.

"See that?" Harry calmed down again. "That is what insanity looks like; it will doll itself up and seem perfectly normal… but when you push it too far, it reveals itself, because it has no other choice… and that's exactly what you're doing to werewolves, and centaurs, and merpeople and all other sentient, intelligent creatures. Do the right thing, before the entire government and society consists of wizards and witches who turn into homicidal creatures on the full moon, and the price for the Wolfsbane Potion skyrockets because _everyone_ needs it. If anyone wants a detailed overview of my proposals, send me an owl, and we will meet… but _that woman_ ," he gestured at Umbridge, "will be the death of half of you if you support her and her work."

With that, Harry grabbed Daphne's hand and led her back outside, and Daphne couldn't suppress a proud smile and an excited shudder. When that boy was angry… whew.

"Emotions, emotions," Harry muttered darkly, and then suddenly pulled Daphne into a dark alcove. "I love how they can affect people sometimes."

He roughly pressed his lips onto Daphne's and she quickly draped her arms around his neck. She became acutely aware of how he felt when he unceremoniously dropped his beloved leather file on the ground and let his hands start roaming her body.

•••

"Do you think it worked?" Daphne asked lazily and drew small, invisible patterns on Harry's tattooed chest.

"For some of them," he shrugged lightly, so as to not push her head off his shoulder. "Bones is likely to listen, and Fudge is a bumbling fool who can be made to do anything with the right words or the right contribution to his Ministerial campaign fund."

He gently rubbed her bare shoulder and held her closer, the warmth her nude body giving him a comforting feeling as they lay beneath the duvet of his bed in Grimmauld Place.

"I always thought I wouldn't experience this until my wedding night," she whispered and leant closer to his neck, kissing it softly.

"Do you regret not waiting?"

"No," she muttered and smiled into his skin. "It was wonderful."

"Well, I'm glad you won't get bored of me immediately," he chuckled and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I was getting worried you might decide I wasn't any fun anymore."

"Things were… chaotic when you… you know. But… I'm sure that I will stand by you. Until you decide to take a mistress, though," she pocked him in the side with her sharp finger nail. "Then I'm allowed to hex you into next week."

"Next month, more like," he said and rolled over a little, enveloping her entirely in his embrace. He stared into her eyes, a joyous glint shining in them. "Thank you… for sticking by me, even when I was going through… all that. Not many would've."

"How am I supposed to marry you if I can't weather your bad times?" she asked with a sarcastic smirk. "We all have them. Yours were just…"

"Extreme?" he chuckled.

"Mildly exaggerated," she finished and kissed his lips.

"Understatement of the fucking century," he said and began roaming his left hand along her side, kissing her deeply.

"Mmmm," she tore away from his lips reluctantly, "but you still need to make up with Trace. That really wasn't nice of you."

"I know," Harry apologised. "I don't know what happened. It just… did."

"On the bright side, you have then entire summer to figure out a way to apologise."

"Right," he muttered, rolled over and sat up, pushing aside the duvet.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly a little concerned.

"What? Oh, I just need something to drink," he said. "Do you want something?"

"Some water would be nice," she said and laid back against the pillows with a smile.

"Water it is, then."

•••

 **July 4th, 1995**

 **Diagon Alley, London**

Harry and Daphne strolled down the Alley, just looking around and spending some time together. They were approached by several people along the way who greeted them and congratulated Harry on his victory in the Triwizard Tournament. He smilingly thanked them for their gratulations, and he and Daphne were content to walk hand–in–hand and just be together.

"How about this one?" he asked and held out a book titled ' _Medicine of the Mediterranean_ '.

They had come to Flourish and Blotts to peruse their books, and were in the 'Potions' section of the store.

"Mediterranean?" Daphne asked as she peered at the cover. "Hmm… yeah, I'd read that."

They walked throughout the shop, looking for books that might be interesting, and once they left, Harry was almost thirty books heavier and twenty–four galleons poorer… though that was hardly a concern for him. Then again, the mokeskin pouch made weight irrelevant, so he had even fewer concerns.

"I have some business at the bank," Harry said and smiled at her. "It might take an hour or so. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said and pecked him on the cheek.

"I'll see you later, then."

Harry headed down the road towards the massive wizarding bank, and bowed lightly at the goblin guards posted outside. They respectfully bowed in return, and he entered, with only half a thought as to where the two security wizards were. He strode confidently down the middle of the room, everyone falling quiet as he did. He walked right up to the Head Goblin.

"Lord Potter," the ancient goblin said with a vicious grin. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, Karsh. I would like to see Griphook."

"Of course," Karsh said. "Griphook!"

Not a minute later, Griphook walked around the teller's desk and bowed at Harry.

"Lord Potter."

"Griphook," Harry returned the bow.

"Follow me, please."

Harry did as bid and followed his family's bank manager into the familiar office, now labelled ' _Griphook, Peverell–Potter manager_ '.

"Thank you for responding to my summons, Lord Potter," Griphook said.

"What's the issue?"

"There's no issue, per se, but I during my research into all assets held by your family, presently and in the past, I came across a small lead to something that I believe you would like to pursue. Mentions of a vault below the village of Godric's Hollow."

"A vault?" Harry asked. "What's it got to do with me?"

"I have spent the past many months studying your family, Lord Potter, and I have come across something I believe would unravel a great deal of mystery regarding your ancestry. It isn't uncommon for a family to only have records going back to the time that they achieved some sense of greatness, but the Potter lineage is… different. I must admit, I at first believed there was nothing to this, but the more I've thought about it, the more things have started to fall into place. I vividly remember reading of one of the precursors to Gringotts, a Roman banking network by the name of dēmosía trápeza. They held a vault for a family, a branch of one of the patrician families, that went by the name Poteria."

"Potter," Harry muttered breathlessly.

"Indeed," Griphook nodded. "The Poteria fled Rome and migrated to Britain sometime in the past two thousand years. According to the research notes lent to us for this very purpose by one of your ancestors, Kingston Potter, they settled in the area of what is today Godric's Hollow. According to Kingston Potter's research, he believed that a crypt to the family was built by one of them, as well as a secure vault only accessible to the 'Blood of Poteria', as he put it."

"I'll investigate this matter as soon as I can," Harry nodded. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Of course, Lord Potter…"

"… and you may take another piece from the Peverell–Potter Family Vault, the same constraints as before applying."

"Very well, Lord Potter," Griphook grinned.

 _Well, they're nothing if not consistent_.

Harry stood from his seat in front of Griphook and left the office rather swiftly. He had things he needed to do… _after_ finding Daphne, of course.

•••

 **July 5th, 1995**

 **Godric's Hollow, England**

Harry and James suddenly appeared in the centre of the small town Harry was born in. Harry looked around, expecting some kind of nostalgia, but it was just another village. Maybe he would change his mind when he found the mysterious crypt Griphook had told him about.

"Where'd you reckon we should begin?" James asked.

"The cemetery," Harry said and nodded up at the church a little off. "If there was a crypt, someone must've built a graveyard around it, no?"

"Makes sense," James nodded and turned around.

The two men made their way to the church, the hot summer–sun glaring down on them as they walked. When they arrived on the cemetery, however, there was no sight of anything that might indicate a crypt.

"You go that way, I'll go this way," Harry said and gestured around the church. "We'll meet on the other side."

James nodded, and they parted ways. Harry walked leisurely amongst the graves, looking around for something that might stand out to him. He had no idea what he was looking for in that regard, though, so his head kept swivelling around, trying to take in every detail. There were quite a few graves, he counted at least a hundred before he stopped bothering to count, but no mausoleum, no entrance to something other than the church, no kind of door going downwards, even though one of the graves had a large stone sla–

Harry backpedalled to the big stone slab that was beginning to crack after centuries of harsh weather. He looked on the headstone itself. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows, his new House crest, was engraved there from dozens of Norse runes forming the lines.

"Ignotus Peverell," Harry smiled just a little as he read the tattered, fading name on the headstone. "Hello… my ancestor."

Harry walked over towards the headstone, going to sit down and read everything on it in detail, only for his leg to disappear into the stone slab. He smirked, and took a few further steps, and soon found himself below ground in vast darkness.

"Lumos," he whispered as he flicked his wand, the tip of which lit up with a white, dull light so as to not hurt his eyes.

He saw that he was standing on a set of stone stairs, and made his way further downwards. When he stepped into a corridor, suddenly dozens of torches along the walls flared to life and spread a comfortable amount of light and a pleasant sense of warmth throughout the no–doubt cold crypt, likely an ancient enchantment placed on them to make it comfortable to be down there. The fact that such a piece of magic could survive centuries amazed Harry, and he ended the light–spell and stuffed his wand back into his holster as he made his way down the corridor.

The walls were lined with indentations where there were large stone sarcophagi with a relief of the inhabitants sculpted on the lid. Above each sarcophagus was a plaque of extended stone of the crypt itself, whereupon was listed the name, dates, details, and achievements of the various ancestors of Harry's. A wide, bright smile broke out on his face as he read some of them, and his respect for his lineage suddenly increased a thousand fold.

Potioneers, writers, heralds, poets, scribes, warriors, politicians, and artists alike were buried here, hundreds of people, as the crypt extended practically as far as Harry's eyes could see. Many of the alcoves for the sarcophagi had two plaques, one for the man and one for his wife, and Harry thought it likely that both of the couples' remains were locked in the same tomb. Some were alone, having either had no wife or not having had a very close relationship with them, Harry imagined.

"One day," he whispered to himself in awe and reverence of the significance of the place, his smile never faltering, "I will be interred here, with a plaque of achievements of my own."

Looking down on the ground, he noticed that some of the large amounts of dry dirt and dust sunk downwards. Harry knelt down and wiped some of it away, only to reveal a long line carved in the ground. He stood up and walked back to the entrance to the crypt, pulled out his wand, and flicked it. A strong gust of air sent the dirt and dust down along the corridor to reveal a line of midnight–black obsidian filling out the groove he had found, and lines branching off at each alcove. He walked over to the nearest on the right and looked down to see the obsidian forming three words:

"Primus Poterius Valerius," he read out and looked up at the plaque. "Primus Poterius Valerius… ease of navigation," he muttered with a smirk. "Nice."

Harry holstered his wand again and turned back to the stairs, a sudden chill running down his spine and raising goosebumps as the torches flickered out, and the warmth disappeared. He climbed up the stairs and out of the crypt, maybe even catacombs, that belonged to his family. As he stepped out, he saw James looking about, having returned to the spot where they parted.

"Over here," Harry called and held up his hand.

James looked over and saw him, and then approached. When he came close, he looked on the grave of Ignotus.

"Ignotus Peverell?" he asked.

"One of my ancestors," Harry said. "His granddaughter Iolanthe married Hardwin Potter, the son of Linfred of Stinchcombe."

"Hmm. And what of his grave?"

"Step on the slab," Harry smirked.

"That's a bit disrespectful, you know," James said.

"No, the crypt's below the slab," Harry said excitedly. "Go on! Look!".

James stepped on the slab, only to step up on it, the slab proving as solid as it looked.

"What?" Harry muttered and looked at the stone slab. "Hold on."

He then took James by the hand, and the man fell straight through the stone slab and out of sight, though Harry could hear his groans and yelps as he tumbled down the stairs below. Harry couldn't help himself and began laughing from his gut, before he too descended into the crypt once more.

"You could've warned me," James muttered and rubbed the side of his head gingerly.

"I didn't know that would happen," Harry shrugged, if only to hide the slight shaking of his shoulders that revealed his amusement. "Welcome to the _Crypta Poteria_."

James looked up at the sight that lay before him, and Harry had never imagined he would get to see James stunned before, but his face showed him to be amazed, just as much as Harry had been.

"It's beautiful," James muttered and smiled slightly.

"It is," Harry agreed. "Let's explore it."

•••

 **Author's Note:**

Honestly, I have no idea where the scene with Harry and Daphne came from. I just wrote, and it just appeared. Although… I have just binged _Game of Thrones_ in a week, sooo… shiiieeeet.


	22. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:**

Hi there. For anyone who noticed, I updated the chapter about the Poteria/Peverell/Potter patrilineage recently. I intend to update it another few times if I think of additions to make to it, or if I come up with new details whilst writing the story itself. In the beginning, I was a little tired with it, but whilst I am worldbuilding my own fictional setting, I have found more enthusiasm in expanding this completely fictional (and utterly non–canon) family tree. Please let me know what you think of the chapter, and what you think of my own vision of the Potter lineage.

Enjoy! XD

 **Dungeon Delving**

 **July 5th, 1995**

 **Crypta Poteria, Godric's Hollow**

Harry and James walked down along the corridor, looking over the alcoves and glancing at the various plaques. Harry made sure to banish dust and dirt from the ground as they walked, and kept his eyes on the lines designating the specific people who were entombed there, but he stopped dead in his tracks as he banished another section of dirt. James stopped when he noticed that Harry was no longer following him, and looked back to see Harry staring at the ground with confused eyes.

"What is it?"

Harry didn't respond, and kept staring at the ground. James quickly glanced at the alcove closest to himself, and saw that the lid of the sarcophagus was still a large slab of rock, yet to be chiselled down to bear a relief resembling the person entombed within, and the plaque was still empty. That particular tomb remained empty so that a future generation of the Potter lineage could fill it. James walked back to Harry and glanced down at the spot the boy was looking at, and froze in his tracks as well.

The obsidian lettering in the floor read ' _James Potter_ ', and below that, ' _Lily Potter_ '.

"If the crypt hasn't been known for centuries… why are they here?" Harry whispered, and then quickly placed his hand on the lid of the sarcophagus, which held two reliefs, one of a man and one of a woman. The man's relief very closely resembled Harry, now that James looked closer.

The lid slowly slid aside, and down in the rather wide sarcophagus, Harry and James saw two figures wrapped up tightly in bandages, just like ancient Egyptian mummies were. James noticed the longing look in Harry's eyes as he stared at the two mummies, before the boy placed his hand on the lid once again, at which it slowly closed over the two figures.

"Someone is still maintaining the crypt," Harry muttered. "Otherwise, they would be buried in the cemetery. Whoever maintains the crypt must also be the one who mummified them."

"Mummification isn't a common funeral process anymore," James nodded. "This is a tradition. I suspect every other person buried here is mummified as well."

"I wonder if they were exhumed from the cemetery after they were buried," Harry muttered. "If they hadn't, there would be a lot of people talking about how their bodies went missing."

"Maybe we'll find out whoever is taking care of it if we go deeper."

"Maybe," Harry muttered non–committedly. He then turned around, a suspicious look on his face. "House elf!"

"Yes, Mǣster?" came a small voice from behind the two men.

Harry snapped back around and looked at the elf. It was short, like all other house–elves, but seemed surprisingly well–kempt, nourished and seemed to have washed quite recently. It was wrapped in a toga–looking sheet, pure white and bearing a stylised, golden 'P' embroidered on the chest. The elf was clean and smiled a small smile, and had large, emerald green eyes like Harry and his mother.

"What's your name?" Harry asked the elf.

"Cassia, Mǣster," the elf said and bowed to him. "Iċ ġebēon bād for ēow."

"She's speaking Old English," James muttered with fascination.

"Can you speak modern English?" Harry asked hopefully.

Without a word, the elf reached out and took Harry's hand. It closed it's eyes for a moment, and then opened them again.

"I can now, Master," the elf said with a smile and a polite tone. "I am Cassia, the matriarch of the Poteria family's house–elves."

"How did you do that?" Harry asked and stared at his hand in amazement.

"It was your distant ancestor that used powerful blood magics to grant us this ability, Master," Cassia said and began calmly walking back down the corridor, and then stopped at a specific sarcophagus. She turned back to them and gestured up at the plaque. "Caius Poterius Hadrianus, a master of alchemy, blood magic, and ritual workings imbued us with the ability, as people from several countries speaking different languages married into the family. It would take too long to teach us all the languages, so we gained the ability to absorb a Poteria's native tongue and speak it ourselves."

"We?" James asked.

"We are several elves, Master–Father," the elf bowed lightly at the man and intertwined her fingers in front of her. "I am the oldest, and my great–granddaughter is going to take over when I die in the next century or so."

"Century!?" Harry exclaimed. "I thought house–elves had a lifespan of a couple of decades at most!"

"You are forgetting the greatness of your ancestors, Master," Cassia smiled warmly at him. "We have been enhanced through alchemy and blood magic to be better than other house elves. Our magic is stronger, our lives longer and our abilities broader. We serve for two, occasionally three centuries, and we were once adopted into the Poteria household where we would be taken care of in our final years. You family has been most kind to us, Master, and so we happily serve, even when you dress us."

"You seem to know a lot of history," Harry commented. "Do you all learn these things?"

"No, Master. Only the Head–Elf learns these things from a young age. I am your current Head–Elf, and so it is my duty to be able to advise and assist you. I cannot do that without understanding and knowing the family's history and heritage."

Cassia led the two of them away from the sarcophagus and into a dark alcove, which turned out to be another stairway, leading down even further.

"Through this stairwell is the Sanctum Poterius. A meeting place and shelter for your family, if rough times befall you. The Crypta Poteria itself is quite well–warded. Anti–apparition wards, anti–portkey wards, a powerful Notice–Me–Not charm, and a Muggle Repelling charm, all of them cast with blood magic, of course. It requires the Blood of Poteria to circumvent these protective spells, but once you have taken another here with you, they can find it again. The Sanctum Poterius is also protected with a Fidelius Vitae Incantatio. The Head–Elf and the Blood of Poteria both serve as Secret Keepers for this particular variation of the Fidelius charm."

"How haven't all these enchantments failed already?" Harry asked.

"The Sanctum is built in the epicentre of a Hexagonal Nexus, a convergence of six leylines, and the consecrated bones of dozens of powerful wizards dwell in this catacomb. The enchantments have stood for over fifteen centuries, and will stand for a thousand more, Master."

"This is all so incredible," Harry muttered as they stepped down into the Sanctum.

A circular room, the diameter the length of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with a ceiling enchanted just the same, sprawled before them, with plenty of tables, chairs, and various other furniture for comfortable gatherings, all in an old style from the Roman times. On the other end was a large, high–backed chair with golden inlays in the black marble and cushions tied to it. Banners with a golden, cursive 'P' hung evenly–spaced around the room.

"Only the Blood of Poteria can access the Sanctum through apparition, portkeys or the like, though a portkey created by a Poterius using blood magic will allow it to cross the boundary," Cassia explained as she led them into the large room. "Through that door," she pointed at a large, heavy oak door to the side, "are sleeping quarters for an extended stay during strife. There is a large bath as well. Through there," she gestured to the opposite side, "is the _Librarium Poteria_ , the Poterius Library. As the Master Poterius, it is your right and privilege to peruse it as you see fit, but if the books are removed from the library, only the Blood of Poteria is capable of comprehending the words written on the paper. Many of the books were written by past Poteria."

They walked to the back of the room where the throne, for lack of a better word, sat, and just behind it was a hidden door the same colour, texture and design as the wall.

"Through here is the _Armamentarium_ , the Armoury, and further below are the Poteria Vaults. All the wealth and riches your ancestors gathered before the Era of Stinchcombe is stored in there. However, I must impress upon you this: the Blood of Poteria cannot pass through here."

"What?" Harry asked. "Why?"

"Only one spawned of the seed or womb of a Poterius can enter through this door, no matter their blood. Only a trueborn Poterius may gain access. Of course, as your personal steward and a house elf of the Poteria, I can sense that you are indeed a trueborn Poterius. However, until you sire children of your own, only you may enter. No woman who births your children and no brother with whom you share your blood, willingly or not, may gain entry."

"That is quite the safety measure," Harry nodded. "What would happen if I were to die before I father children?"

"Then the most prestigious bloodline of the recent four millennia will die out, and we elves will stay down here and let our family go extinct ourselves," Cassia said with her head held high. "We swore to your ancestors to serve your family until it is no more, and if it should happen to be no more, we will stop our own family. We would have no more reason to live. The wealth and knowledge of your family would remain locked away here forever, and this place would be lost to time since no one could ever find it again."

"I see," Harry nodded. "Did you exhume my parents from their graves?"

"I do nothing, Master," the elf responded. "My duty is to oversee every part of every process of every task, though I do none of it myself. However, know this: Before we exhume your family members from their unworthy graves, we pay our respects to the departed. When we transport them, we handle them with the respect and reverence they deserve. And finally, when we place them here in their rightful, glorious tomb, we hold a funeral service for them. Your family is our charge, Master, and we live to serve you, even in your death."

"Where do you live, then?"

"We live in a separate section, Master, hidden from sight. We come here only to clean and serve."

Harry glanced around. The Sanctum was very clean, he would admit. It was a stark contrast to the Crypt.

"Why don't you clean the crypt?"

"We do take care of the sarcophagi, Master," Cassia said and led them back into the centre of the Sanctum. "It was your ancestor Caeis Poterius Hadrianus that instructed us to not clean the floor of the Crypt. It was a failsafe, so that in case someone unworthy should unexpectedly find their way into the Crypt, they would believe it was simply a wizarding crypt and leave once they noticed that no one had cleaned it in decades. Indeed, a few lucky souls have stepped through the entrance by accident in times where the magical energies of the leylines are dampened, such as during the Witching Moon or All Hallows Eve. A dozen wizards or witches have stumbled upon the crypt, and a dozen times has the scheme succeeded."

"Impressive," James nodded.

"The entrance is the least enchanted place in the Crypt, Master," Cassia said at the look of surprise on Harry's face. "There is but two spells cast upon it, and neither is particularly powerful. A disillusionment charm and a conditional transfiguration spell that recognises when someone is stepping on the entrance. It usually takes the presence of a Poterius to activate the transfiguration, but the presence of all the remains of the hundreds of Poteria in the Crypt saturate the surrounding area, so it occasionally recognises completely foreign people as Poteria in the leylines' fluctuating phases."

"I thought that you said that it was the leylines that made the enchantments so strong," Harry asked.

"Leylines, like all natural sources of magical energy, can fluctuate with certain conditions," James said. "The Witching Moon and Hallowe'en are times where the shroud between the world of the living and the realm of the dead is weakest, so leylines passing through graveyards are suppressed during this time, though it's only a few hours every year."

"Indeed," Cassia nodded. "Your family used to celebrate All Hallows Eve up in the Crypt, where they would hold a ritual and gathering for their dead. You may find texts on these particular necromantic rites in the Necromancy section of the Librarium Poteria."

"So… blood magic, alchemy, necromancy… are there any other dark arts my ancestor's practiced?" Harry asked, half–jokingly.

"They did study a little in soul magic and demonology, but they never really practiced it," Cassia admitted with a polite smile. "They also began studying dark creatures when they first truly settled here, most notably basilisks. I believe that one of your ancestors, a woman who married into the family in the early eighteenth century, possessed the ability to speak with snakes. Malia Gaunt was her name."

"Gaunt?" Harry asked. "But they're descendants of…"

Without another word, Harry whipped out his wand and flicked it at the ground with a muttered "Serpensortia". A small, black snake shot out of his wand and landed on the ground, slithering about lazily as it flicked it's tongue about, trying to get the scent of prey.

"Hello?" Harry asked it. "Hello?"

The snake turned it's head to look at him, and then tilted it to the side.

"Can you understand me?"

The snake didn't move until it leant it's head to the other side, but made no move as to confirm or deny his suspicion. I looked only like a rather intelligent snake trying to assess his motives.

"Can you try speaking to me?"

The snake finally just turned around and slithered away.

"Well, it was worth a shot," he muttered.

"As far as I understand it, Parseltongue is not a definite ability of the blood of Slytherin," Cassia spoke up. "It merely has a great chance to manifest in them, having descended from Salazar Slytherin, but he was not the first Parselmouth."

"Who was?"

"Herpo the Foul, an ancient Greek wizard," James said, his arms crossed as he stared after the slithering snake. "He's also the guy who discovered how to breed basilisks… and invented the Horcrux."

"Indeed," Cassia nodded.

"You seem to know quite a lot," Harry said.

"The Head–Elf is permitted to read the Librarium's tomes at their leisure, so as to better serve the Master. The Master has on occasion even taught the Head–Elf personally, a great honour to grace a servant with such an opportunity."

"A great honour indeed," the young lord muttered, thinking about the things he had read about house–elves. "Thank you for your service, Cassia. I would be honoured to have an elf like you to steward me."

"And I am honoured to steward the Poteria," Cassia said and bowed a little. "If you ever need anything, simply call my name. In the meantime, I shall return to my tasks and spread your newer English tongue to my clan."

With that, she simply disappeared without a sound.

"I expected to find just an empty, subterranean location," Harry said and looked at James. "I didn't expect there to be an entire clan of house–elves in service to my family."

"You'll find surprises in the most surprising places."

"Well, no shit."


	23. Chapter 22

**Gears Grinding Into Motion**

 **July 6th, 1995**

 **Paris, France**

Harry, Daphne, and Tracey all stepped off the train on the station, the sun baking down on the city beyond the roof of the platforms, and Tracey dragging her trunk behind her. The three of them wore light, semi–formal clothes, well–suited for the warm weather; both girls wore summer dresses, wide–brimmed hats, and low–heeled sandals in bright colours, and Harry stuck to khaki slacks, brown leather loafers, and a white polo–shirt, topped with a pair of sunglasses. Daphne and Tracey skipped ahead with bright smiles to look out over the city, awed at it's summer splendour. Harry smirked as he watched them, having gone to Paris on business quite a few times himself. He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked around. There weren't many people on the station that morning, but Harry did spot a somewhat familiar face.

A woman, eyes as blue as the sky and bright hair shining in the sunlight. If it wasn't for the few, small lines in her face, Harry would have mistaken her for Fleur Delacour, but it was precisely that fact that told him she was the French Triwizard champion's mother. Her eyes locked on him, and she began making her way over. Her face was as neutral as the expression Fleur had nigh–constantly worn, and Harry was a little apprehensive at her motion; did she feel he had wronged her daughter? Would she yell at him? Slap him? At least he would find out in another twenty seconds.

" _Bonjour, monsieur Potter_ ," she said in French and stuck out her hand. " _My name is Apolline Delacour. I would like to extend my thanks for entrusting mademoiselle Davis in my care for apprenticeship_."

" _So, it was you she contacted?_ " Harry asked, also in French, which did make Apolline's eyes widen in slight surprise as he shook her hand. " _She only ever gave me your first name. If I had known her would–be master was Fleur's mother, I would have at least tried making more of an effort in terms of compensation_."

"What does my daughter have to do with this?" Apolline asked, switching over to nigh–perfect English. "The way she describes it, you hate her."

"I never said anything of the sort," Harry shook his head. "I respect Fleur. She's a formidable witch, with a sharp mind and ambition to put it to good use. I'm sure she will go far."

"She did say you were quite rude," Apolline crossed her arms beneath her breasts, emphasising them some, and Harry had to struggle with himself not to look. He had a feeling it wasn't intentional, seeing as she was a veela.

Ever since his emotions had fallen into place and his mind had cleared of Tom's influence, he had found that he actually _really_ liked Daphne. He wouldn't go as far as to say that he loved her, but he was certain that in a couple of years, he might very well love her. She was gorgeous, smart, witty, occasionally even funny, and she cared. She put on a face of indifference and superiority whenever she was around those she didn't trust, but when she was with him, Blaise, or Tracey, she was a warm, kind, and compassionate girl who would always have a smile for them. Harry would freely admit that he felt a strong attraction to her, and he would just as freely admit that he was growing closer to loving her with each day.

But Fleur and Apolline… they were goddesses; divinely beautiful and radiant women, and even Apolline, who was in her late forties according to his contacts in Paris, was a beauty to rival Aphrodite. Harry could feel the pull of her veela's allure, as weak as it was with his strength of will, but her face, her _body_ … she and Fleur, in Harry's brutally honest opinion, were indeed more physically attractive than Daphne, by far. But their beauty was _artificial_ ; a mechanism to lure in prey for them to continue their species. It was designed with the explicit purpose of being the perfect beauty to draw in men. Daphne's beauty, on the other hand, was _natural_ , and _real_. It took a lot of Harry's mental power to resist letting his eyes roam every inch of the veela in front of him.

"I suppose I might come across like that," Harry said somewhat absentmindedly. "My father is quite influenced by Scandinavian culture. Danish, to be precise."

"I thought your parents died?" she asked with a frown. "That is part of the biggest reason for your fame, after all."

"My adopted father," Harry clarified. "The man who took me in when I was orphaned."

"And, what does being rude have to do with being Danish?" Apolline practically demanded, the frown still resting on her face.

"Nothing if you're Danish," Harry smirked a little. "But most foreigners' biggest complaint is that they're rude and impolite. They base that assumption in that the Jutes, the ones on the Danish mainland, don't really use 'please' and 'excuse me'."

"That _is_ quite rude," Apolline nodded her head.

"Maybe to you, but you're French. Not Danish. To the Danes, it isn't about politeness, but efficiency. If they bump into you, they _will_ say 'sorry', even if you don't hear it because they mumble. To them, it's a matter of wasting time; they've already wasted a bit of your time and patience by bumping into you, so they want to waste as little more as possible. A lot of people also point out that they don't say 'would you please pass me the sauce?'. They say 'pass the sauce'. It's all about efficiency. It's part of why they're lousy small–talkers; they're perfectly content with silence when there isn't a _need_ for words."

"Really?" Apolline asked with a slight chuckle. "Interesting. Well, you will have to forgive my presumptions, then. And Fleur's, too. She is quite…"

"Judgemental?" Harry suggested with a smile. "Haughty? Snobbish? Bit of all three?"

Apolline didn't look all that amused, but she didn't look like she could disagree.

"She's _special_ ," Apolline finally stated, "and let's leave the matter there."

"Let's," Harry agreed. "So, tell me about your business."

"Well, I'm an enchantress," Apolline said and flipped her hair behind her shoulder, remarkably similar to how he had seen Fleur do it when she was at Hogwarts. "I enchant things; rugs, pots, pans, knives, spoons, forks… you probably wouldn't believe the kind of things people want enchanted with certain properties. Sometimes I can't help but think that we will eventually go extinct, simply because wizards and witches are too lazy to continue our species."

Harry couldn't help the laughter at that comment, and the sound drew the attention of Daphne and Tracey, who turned around. Daphne's expression turned sour immediately, and she was about to stomp over until Tracey grabbed her wrist and muttered something in her ear. Harry could only guess that she was informing Daphne that it was Apolline, and not Fleur, since Daphne calmed down quite swiftly.

"She seems like she has a temper," Apolline muttered to Harry.

"Well, you do look stunningly similar to Fleur, who is already stunning on her own," Harry said, "not to mention that Fleur attempted to use her allure on me at the Yule Ball to pull me away from Daphne," he nodded in said girl's direction to let Apolline know who he was talking about.

"She did, did she?" Apolline muttered with a disappointed tone. "I will have words with my daughter about that."

"It isn't necessary," Harry tried to assure the woman. "It didn't work, an–"

"It doesn't matter that it didn't work," Apolline said and looked him in the eye. "It is the fact that I have always taught her that actively using her allure on another's partner is against our rules."

"Veela have unified laws?" Harry asked.

"No, it's a Delacour law," Apolline smiled apologetically at him. "She was usually so good at following it. I suppose there might be something about you that might influence her to… disregard the rules I've drilled into her head throughout her childhood," she said, and her eyes visibly roamed Harry's body, clearly appraising his form. "I see plenty of reason for envying your girlfriend. If I were unmarried and twenty years younger…" she lightly bit her lower lip.

"Well, thank you," Harry chuckled, turning his head a little to hide the small flush of his neck. "I'll admit, if that were the case… well, let's say I definitely wouldn't be opposed to it. But that ship has long sailed."

"It has, indeed," Apolline agreed and smirked. "I will take care of Ms Davis, don't worry."

"Thank you again, Apolline," Harry said and turned back to her. "If there's anything I can assist you with, besides the fee I'm paying you, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you for the generous offer, _Harry_ ," she slightly drawled his given name as he had so casually used hers. "A favour from you, I suspect, could become quite handy sometime."

"It very well may. Have a good day, Mrs Delacour."

"You as well, Mr Potter."

Apolline then made her way over to Tracey, and the two Slytherin girls quickly hugged and exchanged goodbyes before Daphne walked back over to Harry and they watched and waved at Tracey, who waved back as she followed Apolline off the station.

"You made sure to apologise before we left, right?" Daphne asked as the couple stepped back on the train, which was headed back to England.

"I did," Harry said with a nod as they found their seats again. "She took it much better than I'd even hoped she would. Although, she did slap me," he added sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.

"Serves you right," Daphne muttered and leant into his side, planting her head on his shoulder. "Wake me when we get back."

It wasn't a request; it was an order.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered and leant his head on hers.

•••

 **July 7** **th** **, 1995**

 **Diagon Alley, London**

Harry sat in an armchair by the cosy fire in the rented room of the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for someone. Daphne sat on a sofa close to him, her eyes running along the lines of writing on the sheets of parchment in her hands. Harry simply stared into the fire, his mind idly wandering as he waited. He didn't have to wait much longer, though, as the knocks on the door announced the arrival of the visitors.

Harry and Daphne both stood up and walked over to the door. Daphne opened it to reveal an assembly of ten, maybe fifteen witches and wizards, all of more advanced age than the couple who still attended school.

"Mr Potter," the first of them, an elderly man, greeted and stuck out his hand. "Ms Greengrass."

"Mr Hutchinson," Daphne greeted in return, and Harry nodded from behind her, both of them shaking his offered hand.

So they greeted all of the thirteen visitors who stepped through the door. Harry closed the door when the final person had entered, and he waved his wand over it, casting some privacy enchantments on it.

"First off, I would like to thank you all for coming," Harry said and moved over to the head of the long table where the people had sat down, Daphne sitting to his right on the longer side, and the seat to his immediate left unoccupied, reserved for a special guest. There were a few murmurs of acceptance of the thanks. "Now, before we proceed, I would like to introduce you to my honorary uncle, Remus Lupin."

With a flick of Harry's wand, the lycanthrope suddenly appeared as the disillusionment charm dissipated. Remus nodded at them all and took the seat on Harry's left.

"He is a werewolf," Harry said, and immediately raised a hand to calm the people down when they started scuffling from shock, "and he is very docile, I assure you. He is only here to inform you of how it is to be a werewolf in our society."

The various people looked nervously at each other, a few short, whispered debates happened, but they all eventually settled down and paid far more attention than Harry had anticipated.

"Now, you are all gathered here because you were interested in my proposal to rewrite the half–creature, half–human legislations, and we begin with werewolves, seeing as I have one ready to expand our knowledge on the subject, not to treat you like an object or beast," Harry quickly added and looked at Remus, who merely nodded with a small smile. "The first thing we need to establish is this; what qualifies a half–creature, half–human?"

Some of the Wizengamot members simply looked at each other, whereas others looked at Harry like they were expecting him to explain.

"A person born of the union between a creature and a human," Daphne said.

"Exactly," Harry said and nodded to her. "But these werewolves… they aren't born lycanthropes; they are always turned. I think, therefore, that we can conclude that they aren't, in fact, half–creature. I think we should instead treat them as completely human _subjected to a curse_. I think that is much more befitting, at least for now. Remus, how do the werewolves see their lycanthropy?"

"I won't lie, there are those that see it as a blessing," Remus said and crossed his arms, looking at the Wizengamot members seated around the table. "Some see it as a gift that allows them to become stronger and more powerful, and while I don't share the sentiment, I can understand it. It's important to understand how the werewolf curse affects people, though; first of all, it cannot be transmitted to Muggles. It requires the magic innate to witches and wizards to activate and survive. From there, it can go in two directions. Either, one fights it like I do, and we only change on the full moon where we lose all semblance of humanity unless we rigorously take the Wolfsbane Potion; or, one gives in and welcomes it as a gift, and gains the ability to transform at will, along with no longer being forced to transform on the full moon. You might have heard of Fenrir Greyback," a few shivers rolled through the gathered witches and wizards. "He has completely surrendered himself to it, and he has taken on permanent wolf–like features, like his teeth, hair, claws and snout. He always has access to some of the werewolves' powers, like increased strength, speed, and resilience, as well as heightened senses. I've only ever heard of him going so far, though. There have been cases that I have seen where werewolves could shift into the shape of the wolf at will, but while in human form, they only have a fraction of the wolf's powers."

"So when we take these factors into account, werewolves are actually quite similar to witches and wizards, no?" Harry asked the crowd and glanced over them. "As young children, we have no control of our powers, and they appear at random, much like the full moon transformation. When we give in to our magic and learn to wield it, however, we learn to use it at will, and no longer experience accidental outbursts of it. I therefore think we should re–evaluate how we classify, not just lycanthropes, but all creatures. Personally, I do believe that the current 'X' rating system of the Ministry is fair enough, but only for creatures that can't form human–like thoughts or has at least human–like social structures or intelligence. In this system, werewolves, vampires, centaurs, and merpeople would be excluded, whereas acromantulas, dragons, basilisks and such would not. I will concede, acromantulas are known to be able to learn to speak human languages and express ideas at the level of human–intelligence, but they are also vicious and dangerous creatures like basilisks, first and foremost. Werewolves spend one, maybe occasionally two nights every lunar month as wolves, and they can retain their human minds with the use of the Wolfsbane Potion, so I don't think they should be classified as 'creatures'. Along this same line of thought, we should probably come up with a new system of classification or categorisation as to what constitutes 'creature' and what constitutes 'being'. I will personally design this new system from the ground–up, but I need your support and votes if I am to be able to do something with it! We can change the magical society of Britain for the better, but we must take action to achieve it! So I ask you, proud members of the Wizengamot; will you support me and stand by me?"


End file.
